


Weaver's Tale

by Sapphomet (Cassplay)



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, teratophilia - Fandom
Genre: Biting, Blood Kink, Enthrallment, F/F, Giant Woman, Hypnosis, Lesbian Character, Mind Control, Monster Transformation, Teratophilia, Transformation, instance of vore, lesbian monster orgy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21773410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassplay/pseuds/Sapphomet
Summary: Caruviel's wedding is in less than a week. For some this might be a cause for celebration. For her this is not. In a village completely unnacepting of her wishes she faces a choice that will change her fate.Who are these strange women who have begun appearing to her? Who is this mysterious Mistress they speak of?Written for an RPG character's backstory.Warnings: Parental neglect and abuse, arranged marriages, mentions of alcohol, cult environment, hyperbolic patriarchal setting, public execution, gore, blood, accidental self-harm, allusions to marital rape and abuse, murder, body desecration.This isn’t a happy story, and no one comes out looking good, or even likable.Features: Hypnosis, mind control, enthrallment, biting, blood play, teratophilia, monster transformation, lesbian monster orgy, giant woman, instance of vore.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> Huge Content warning for this story. it's probably the darkest thing I've ever written.  
Warnings: Parental neglect and abuse, arranged marriages, mentions of alcohol, cult environment, hyperbolic patriarchal setting, public execution, gore, blood, accidental self-harm, allusions to martial rape and abuse, murder, body desecration.  
This isn’t a happy story, and no one comes out looking good, or even likable.

Caruviel sobbed. It was less than a week to her hundredth birthday. While this might seem impressive in human years, to an elf she was young. Although still old enough to know what she wanted, that was also too young for her wishes to be respected. The truth was, she hadn’t been given a choice from the start.

A mere five years after her birth was the first time her parents forced her to interact with Prince Illuvian. Her birth just after his was no coincidence. As soon as it was announced that the King’s wife was with child, couples pressed themselves together, reproduction now the fashion of the moment. Not just that, but everyone wanted a child that could potentially marry the royal heir. If they happened to end up with the wrong sex for an accepted marriage, then there would be plenty of spares.

Caruviel had been shepherded into the play pen of magically woven branches. The area inside was littered with Illuvian’s toys. She could remember as clear as if it happened yesterday. She had been permitted to bring one of her own toys and only one. It was just her and the stuffed doll. She had named it Siriel, after an ancient heroine. Her mother told her the story many a time. That same mother shut the gate to the play pen, leaving her to her own devices as Illuvian did his best to maintain composure in front of her.

The story of Siriel was not a particularly happy one, in Caruviel’s opinion. She had single-handedly made her way along the Brushtan pass to warn her village of an oncoming army. The pass was often deadly even if in a group. It was a winding mountain path, sparsely dotted with caves. There were few places to camp. Even rarer were those that were unoccupied by bandits, hoping to ransom messages that were carried across. She was so brave. Caruviel had wanted to be just like her.

But then, as all stories about heroic elf maidens did, she met a mortal man who was hardly a person. She was usually in trance, an elvish sleep, by the time her mother reached that part of the story, but if she wasn’t in trance by then she’d pretended to be. It wasn’t much use trying to tell her mother she wasn’t interested. Her mother claimed it to be important and insisted that she ‘finish the story properly’. Caruviel suffered each time Siriel gave up her past as a warrior, as if she couldn’t love while still being a fighter.

The Siriel she carried was different. Love was fine and all, but she was a true warrior. She had said to the mortal man that she was a warrior, and a warrior she would stay. She made the journey along the Brushtan pass several more times. The faceless mortal man got tired of waiting, and issued an ultimatum. Siriel laughed it off, if the faceless mortal man had loved her, then he would have loved her as she was, not what he wished her to be. She left him like he never mattered.

She had glanced at the clock on Illuvian’s parent’s mantlepiece. The hands hadn’t moved much since they arrived, just the big hand at the opposite side to what it had been. Which meant it was only half an hour since she had arrived.

Caruviel’s play was interrupted by a hand snatching away her doll.

“Hey!” She yelled at Prince Illuvian. He had sidled up to her corner without her notice. Somehow. She gritted her teeth. “Give me back Siriel.”

“Is that her name?” He said, smiling stupidly.

“Give her back, now!”

“Now, now, dear. You know you should share.” She heard the voice of her mother call from over where the adults discussed their own business.

“Is she named after Siriel the maid?” Illuvian asked, as if Caruviel’s eyes weren’t filling with tears. As if she wasn’t shaking with anger. As if he was simply admiring the toy rather than tearing it away from her and sullying it with his hands.

She made a grab for Siriel. Lunging far too fast, and too close to the edge of the pen. He dodged easily, pulling her doll away from her at the last second. Caruviel felt fine for a second, then the pain from banging her head crawled out from the point of impact. It spread like many snails had been let loose on her scalp, leaving hot trails across her skin. Tears began to fall.

Illuvian knelt down beside her. It had seemingly gotten through to him that Caruviel was hurt.

“Aww, how adorable; they’re getting on together already.” She heard a parent say. “Yes, I believe we can make this arrangement work.”

Caruviel wasn’t paying much attention to them. Siriel had left Illuvian’s hand. He had dropped her on the floor just behind himself. Caruviel’s hand darted out and grabbed the doll. As soon as it was clutched against her chest she scuttled backwards until her back bumped against the side of the pen.

She was still in pain, but she had Siriel back, and that was worth it. The problem was: now that she was crying, it was rather difficult to stop. Siriel was in her arms, but she cried on. She curled in on herself, allowing herself to wait out this fit of sadness.

“Are you okay?” Illuvian said from above her.

“Go away.” She said. She hoped he did.

He didn’t.

“Why’re you crying?” He said, taking a hold of her arm, wrapped around her knees, tugging it slightly.

“Shut up, go away!”

Illuvian tugged harder, trying to drag her open. He was trying to open her up to the world, to him. It was his fault she had started crying to begin with. He grabbed the other arm with his other hand. This time it moved, but not because of Illuvian’s efforts.

Her fist impacted on his cheek with a satisfying ‘schlap’ sound.

“Caruviel!” Someone said, she thought it might have been one of her parents. Caruviel had already curled back into a ball.

Oh no. she had hit the Prince. Oh no. no. this can’t. no.

Her thoughts trailed off into obscurity from there.

It wasn’t until later that she regretted she hadn’t hit the Prince again. Perhaps then her parents wouldn’t have been able to salvage the official courtship contract between them. Courtships in their small village were a frighteningly stifling affair. They were the only accepted relationships allowed in the woods. Although the word ‘relationship’ hardly described them. A man and a woman were bound together with the contract shortly after birth by their parents. Caruviel could not conceive how such things lead to love, but many women insisted that they had grown to love their husbands.

She could tell that these women were usually lying, they had to be. There was simply no way being forced together like that could ever result in something but resentment of the other party. More than ninety years later, after her life had been bargained away by her parents, she thought no different, and had been dreading the day after her 100th birthday for just as long. For that was when she was to be married.

Her parents had pulled off a masterstroke. Despite their lower status as a craft and mercantile family, Caruviel’s father was a rather skilled Carver. His woodcarvings had fallen out of fashion just after he had married, but as is the cyclical nature of fashion, he planned for them to come back into fashion.

No matter her pleadings, her parents both could not, and would not break the contract. Her father had been building up a stock of carvings for the past hundred years, ready for the tide to turn and be asked to decorate the palace and every other home. It would be a simple negotiation when his daughter was Princess by marriage. No matter her pleadings, the answer was always the same.

The answers were always the same, but different. ‘Outside the wood is worse’, ‘it’s for the good of society’, ‘it’s just what’s done’, ‘you can stay here in the woods, where it’s safe’, and ‘you should be happy you’re contracted to the Prince’. The answers meant nothing to her.

She cried out in frustration and punched the feather pillow under her head. These fits of despair were becoming more and more frequent at the approach of her birthday. A great sadness overcame her while alone and reflecting. She was supposed to be changing for Intë’s birthday party. With birthdays on the mind, all it took was carelessly holding up a snowy dress to herself to make her thoughts stray to her looming wedding.

She tried to keep her tears quiet. Her mother said it was unbecoming of an elf maiden to sob, only to weep. Caruviel had never seen much difference between then, except of course, that sobbing was true emotion, unobscured by the visage of beauty.

Her despair slowly faded into the background, louder than before, but not central to her thoughts. Caruviel sighed, she had to be ready soon. Definitely soon. Intë wanted her to be there…

Her mother was shaking her from trance.

“What are you doing?!” She hissed. “We’re supposed to be there now!”

Oh no, she had fallen back in trance? No, no, no, this can’t be happening.

“Sorry.” She said simply, her expression locking down as her mind raged.

“Well get changed quickly.” Her mother said. “We need to be there in five minutes.” She closed the door, with slightly more force than required.

Caruviel let out a small sob. She should have gotten up after she cried, now they were going to be late. If they’re late then her parents would be so embarrassed. She froze. What would they do if they were embarrassed? What if they decided she was more of a burden than she was worth? What if they just left her at the party, never acknowledged her again. Or kicked her out. she couldn’t survive on her own-

No. She was spiralling into unlikelihood.

Caruviel pushed the thoughts from her mind and muted her emotions. The important thing now is getting dressed. She stripped quickly, not acknowledging her nudity at even a passing glance. She threw on the dress that had reminded her of the wedding, she didn’t have the capacity to get out another one.

Moving like an automaton, she slipped on a pair of flat shoes and opened her bedroom door. There was no need for the human makeup she heard tell of from those on the edge of the woods. Elves were all naturally beautiful, if someone said that one elf was more beautiful than, then they were either lying, or stupid. She was an average looking elf; they were all average compared to other elves. If there was some deity that created the planes of existence, they would be the closest evidence to it. Only someone with an opinion on beauty standards could have made them like this. She despised whoever that deity was.

Her feet traced their way downstairs. Her parents were waiting at the bottom, next to the door set in the wood of their home.

“Let’s get going.” Her father said, grumpy without being unseemly.

She followed her parents as they walked through the wood. They must be disappointed in her. NO, stop that, they were mildly irritated at most. They had every right to be angry, such a disappointment she must be. STOP IT. Her guilt clashed with her middling self-worth as she walked towards the orchard owned by Intë’s family.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the time to try to breathe calmly. Although elves very rarely showed exertion, Caruviel’s breath was necessary all the same. The constant despair from her looming wedding had only made these thoughts worse. At the very least once she was at the party, she would be able to find a corner to hide herself away in. Or perhaps…

Caruviel idly wondered if Narixina would be there. Okay, it wasn’t exactly idle wonder. Perhaps if she was, then Caruviel would finally get her chance to talk to her. Caruviel’s shoulders visibly slumped as she realised this would probably be her last chance to talk to Narixina. At least before she was married. Married to Illuvian. There was a finality about it.

Narixina was only a few years older than Caruviel. Narixina was everything Caruviel has aspired to be while growing up, at every stage of her life Narixina was a few steps ahead of her. At the age of thirty she had a scandalously short haircut; it only went to her shoulders. She was muscular, not unlike her doll Siriel had been in her revised tale. Although she couldn’t really put into words why, Caruviel had wanted to be friends with her for the past eighty years. Ever since the first time Caruviel’s family attended the same social gathering with Narixina’s. She couldn’t ever seem to put the feeling into words.

Narixina’s family were outside traders. They lived near the very edge of the wood and swapped things back and forth with the humans, and other mysterious creatures, that lived beyond. Her parents would never have approved of that, which kept her from asking anything about visiting there. Narixina’s family weren’t exactly on the same level as Caruviel’s, and a drought nearly a millennium ago had forced them to start trading with outsiders.

Which, come to think of it, that trade was probably where Narixina got her incredible perfume. Many times, over the years, when Caruviel had attempted to go up to Narixina and engage her in conversation, she had been so overcome with the alien scent that she had to sit down for a while. Definitely just the scent. It was fresh and clear, and a little ashy. But the best thing about it was that it was Narixina’s, there was no one else like her in the woods.

Caruviel came to her senses just in time to step through the gate into the orchard owned by Intë’s family. She mentally checked herself over, and stood up straight, shoulders back. Intë was waiting by the gate. She greeted Caruviel’s parents, closed the gate, and accompanied them out onto the orchard. Caruviel’s jaw tightened slightly, they were the last to arrive.

“My Betrothed will only be with us for a while I’m afraid.” Intë said. “He and the hunting party are off to catch the swan for the high table tomorrow.”

Intë’s wedding, It was the day after her hundredth birthday as well. Caruviel’s discomfort with the topic must have shown some on her face, as Intë addressed her directly next.

“Caruviel, you must come with me to the wine barrels. We can’t leave our parents thirsting.” Intë offered her hand and turned towards the refreshments. Caruviel gingerly took it and allowed herself to be led.

“Happy Century, Intë.” Caruviel said.

“Thank you.” Intë said. “And to you too for just a few days from now.”

“I- Thank you.” She said, almost speaking out against the well wishes, or at least, what would follow after they came true.

“Caruviel.” Intë sighed. “I know you’re not looking forward to your wedding, but could you at least pretend? It’s not everyone who gets to wed the Prince, you know.”

“I have tried.” She said as they came to a stop in front of the wine casks.

“Six, please.” Intë said to the attendant, then she turned back to Caruviel. “Honestly, I don’t know what you don’t like about Prince Illuvian.”

“He is… unlikeable.” Caruviel attempted to explain.

“He’s the Prince, and your betrothed, how is he unlikeable?” This was dangerous territory. Caruviel needed to change the subject.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Smooth.

“Well, alright.” Intë relented. She picked up two of the wooden goblets filled with wine and gestured for Caruviel to pick up the tray of four. She did so, ignoring the obvious slight at being the one to carry the tray like someone lesser, someone unworthy of attending this party as a guest. She did her best anyway.

They returned to their parents with the drinks.

“Thank you, dear.” Intë’s father said, taking a goblet from his daughter’s hand. Once the wine was dispensed, the elf maidens’ parents resumed their conversation. Caruviel’s mind began to wander, letting the dull talk wash past her, occasionally agreeing when someone said something that they knew was thoroughly in line with the beliefs of the others in attendance.

She would curse herself for it later, but even later than that she would be infinitely thankful.

“Caruviel?” Intë’s mother asked. She snapped to attention.

“Pardon, ma’am?” She said, trying to save face.

“I was asking if you would take Intë as a bridesmaid.”

“Mother…” Intë groaned, trying and failing to suppress her embarrassment.

“I- uh, I’ll think it over, ma’am.” Caruviel said, trying to delay a necessary statement as much as possible.

“Time is ticking away; I’ll expect your answer after Intë’s reception.” Intë’s mother said.

“Yes, of course.” Caruviel said. She needed to get away for a bit. This was all too much. “Excuse me, I’d like to talk to someone… over there.” She chose a random direction deeper into the orchard and started off.

“How crass.” Intë’s mother said. “Hardly enough grace to marry the Prince.”

The insult itself isn’t what brought tears to Caruviel’s eyes. She had been called worse. Half-elven, brash, and various other aspersions implying that she wasn’t worthy of respect. It was the spite behind the words that set her footsteps to a faster tempo. That and the implication that she was somehow too lesser to shoulder a ‘blessing’ like the planned marriage. The marriage was far from a blessing, everyone knew that was what she thought; How could they think it was a blessing?

Caruviel blinked violently as she brushed past the other guests. She avoided their gaze as she wove her way towards the wood.

As she passed the edge of the trees the density of party guests dropped significantly. The younger guests were more prominent here, talking in small groups. Caruviel had to turn right suddenly to avoid some half-century boys. Of course, she couldn’t be sure of their ages, but they were certainly immature enough to be younger than sixty. She ignored their comments and continued into the orchard.

Only a minute or so later she reached a woven fence. Woody vines snaked their way between the vertical saplings situated every few metres. She looked this way and that, and with no gate in sight she hiked up her gown and stepped over it.

Outside Intë’s family’s estate the trees changed from those of the orchard into less fruitful varieties. Pines were especially prominent, their thin leaves falling even this early in the season, while every so often was the thick trunk of a beech.

She passed by a thick curtain of beard plant living on a bent beech trunk, and emerged onto the bank of a lake. She smiled; it was Lake Mas. A small jetty had been woven a few metres clockwise of her position. Caruviel walked over to it, and then down it, out towards the centre of the lake.

She slipped off her shoes and sat down on the jetty’s edge, her feet dangling in the cool water. Caruviel breathed in deeply. This place always calmed her before. It was just what she needed.

Caruviel’s eyes drifted to the bank across from her. She had come here a lot as a child. How many days did she while away playing in the water? Thousands, it had to be.

But then things changed, her parents took her to the shores less. They probably thought her too old for such childish things. There was also the nervousness she began to get…

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one with the idea to come out here.” A voice said from behind her. “That party was so boring.”

Caruviel turned and her heart near stopped. It was Narixina. Her golden hair was now chin-length.

Narixina’s mouth moved. Caruviel could barely make out what she was saying. She snapped out of this peculiar trance that seemed to have come over her.

“Oh, of course I don’t mind your company.” Caruviel said. Narixina smiled and doffed her own shoes, joining her on the edge of the jetty. Caruviel fidgeted slightly as their thighs came into contact.

“Caruviel, right?” Narixina asked. She knew her name! Caruviel nodded. “I’m Narixina.”

“I know.” Caruviel said, feeling the acknowledgement slip out of her mouth before she could think better. What if she knew how closely she had watched the other young woman? It would be so embarrassing if Narixina knew how much Caruviel had fixated on her.

“I know?” Narixina chuckled, smiling. “I’m surprised a lofty maiden as yourself, the betrothed Princess, would know me.”

“I’m really not all that lofty.” Caruviel said, blushing. “And I despise the thought of being Illuvian’s wife.”

“That sucks.”

“Pardon?” Caruviel asked, wanting clarification for the unfamiliar expression.

“Oh, I meant that it’s bad your parents set it up then.” Narixina explained. “Sorry, I forget how different the language is this far in. My parents and me live at the wood’s Edge. We trade with outsiders and I picked up a bit of the lingo from travellers.”

“That’s interesting.” Caruviel said.

“Yeah, I don’t envy you having to live here.” She said. “I think it’d get so stuffy.”

“It does tend to.” Caruviel took a deep breath, trying to calm herself a little, only to get a close-range blast of Narixina’s scent. Thankfully, it seemed Narixina was happy with silence for now, so she didn’t have to scrape together a response.

The silence would get awkward quickly though, Caruviel knew that.

“That’s an interesting perfume.” She said tentatively.

“Perfume?” Narixina asked, seemingly puzzled.

“You always smell so nice.” Caruviel said before she could stop to think.

“Ooh.” Narixina said. “Nah, that’s not perfume, that’s leaf smoke.”

“Smoke?”

“Like… if you inhale the smoke of specific leaves it makes you feel nice.” Narixina explained. “I get it from this halfling caravan that passes through every now and again. I always smoke some before these events, helps me get through the tedium.”

“Oh, I was wondering why it smelled so smoky.” Caruviel said. It sounded like a handy thing to have; something to make her feel better when she wasn’t feeling well. She tilted her head to one side. “What’s it like?”

“It’s kind of difficult to describe, but it’s sort of fuzzy.” Narixina said. She glanced around. “But you’ve got to promise me not to tell anyone, alright.”

“Is it dangerous?” Caruviel asked, hoping that Narixina wasn’t doing anything detrimental to her health.

“No, I just don’t really want people to find out I’ve been buying stuff like that from outside the woods.” She shrugged. “My folks know, of course; but the people in here won’t understand, and I’m hardly popular as is.”

“Of course, I promise.” Caruviel smiled. She frowned. “But why do you say you aren’t popular? You’re the coolest person I know.”

“You think I’m cool?”

“Yeah, I- uh, kind of payed attention to you for a while before now.” Caruviel admitted.

“Well it’s nice to know someone likes me in here.” Narixina said. “Truth be told, you’re pretty cool yourself.”

“Hardly.” Caruviel said, turning and starring glumly across the lake again. “I’m nothing but my father’s way to the riches of the royal family.”

“How foolish to not see the treasure right in front of him.” Narixina was looking at her, Caruviel could feel it. A shiver went up her spine and she turned towards the other elf.

If Caruviel had ever seen stars, which she had not, for the trees above blocked all but the brightest moons in the night sky, she might have compared what she felt inside her head to thousands of stars lighting up in a great wave.

Her heart, although it did beat faster, also seemed to beat deeper. Where previously she had but a simple drum that one might hold in their lap, now she had a far larger one that rested upon the ground.

Warmth seemed to flow outwards from her lungs, gathering in her limbs and certain other parts of her. She wondered if this was like the leaf smoke Narixina had described was like.

But above all, as they kissed each other on the jetty of Lake Mas, she knew that this was right, this was perfect, this was everything she had ever wanted. Caruviel felt her hand move up to Narixina’s shoulder, trying to pull her closer.

Why in all of the woods could this not last forever? She felt as if this moment could continue even if all the forest burned down around them. At the moment the fire was inside her.

Narixina’s hand brushed against her cheek, then cupped it tenderly. Caruviel groaned at the feeling of her gentle hand. It was far from soft, calloused and scarred from work, which only seemed to make it feel better.

They broke apart slowly. Far too slowly. So slowly Caruviel ached for them to come back together and continue. She wanted this again.

“How terrible of you.” Caruviel said. “To give me a gift of such brilliance, a kiss of such majesty, less than a week before my wedding day, where I shall find no such brilliance and everything shall pale in comparison. Surely you have ruined my life.”

“How poetic.” Narixina said. “Do all gifts you receive inspire such prose?

“Only this.”

“You know the story of Siriel, correct?” Narixina asked.

“It was my favourite when I was small.” Caruviel said. “The first half, at least.”

“The travellers I meet tell the story slightly differently.” She said. “The army had already arrived and was occupying the village, so she stole away in the middle of the night and crossed the Brushtan pass against her parents’ wishes.”

“She did?” Caruviel asked.

“Maybe, it is just a story.” Narixina said, shrugging. “But Siriel was my idol too … on the night before your wedding I am leaving. I want to see the world, not just this corner of the forest.”

“I wish you good luck.” Caruviel said, voice only dipping into sadness a tiniest bit.

“Thank you.” Narixina said. “Truthfully I am rather nervous.”

“I think you’ll do great.”

“Doesn’t stop me from being nervous.” Narixina laughed. “Besides, it’s going to be nice to get away from all this.”

“I envy you, truly.” Caruviel said, staring into Narixina’s eyes. “I suppose I’d like to leave this corner of the world, but- “

“Yeah, you’ve got less than a week until, you know…” Narixina said. “I’m buying some supplies in town and my family have to have someone in attendance at these parties.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for you before you leave.” Caruviel said. She leaned in and wrapped Narixina in as close a hug as any elf could. They stayed like that for a length of time, Caruviel trying to convey just how thankful she was through her hug.

“I should probably be getting back to the party soon, you too.” Narixina said and stood up, flowing out of the hug. She walked back to the root of the jetty and slipped her shoes on again. She turned back and waved to Caruviel. Then she slipped between the trees, bound for the orchard and the party.

Caruviel turned back to the water, heart still beating strangely fast.

She reached up to touch her lips. They still tingled with something, although the pressure they felt had long departed.

“Oh my…” She whispered. Narixina had kissed her. She had kissed back. She had kissed back because she wanted to. Her whole life up till this point she had never wished to kiss someone, especially not Illuvian. There was no comparison between the longing she had felt in that moment, just a few minutes ago, and the utter revulsion when she was forced to interact with the Prince.

She had heard mutters of men kissing each other, mostly derisive comments from her parents’ generation. But she had heard hide nor hair of women wanting to kiss each other. Her heart could not be lying. Her mother had said something like that when she was younger: “Your heart will not lie to you; you will fall in love with the Prince eventually.” Her mother’s meaning was far from supportive, but Caruviel thought the first half was a good saying.

She gritted her teeth; she wasn’t lying when she said it was terrible what Narixina had done. She could have gone her whole life in ignorance about what passion felt like. In kissing her she had ensured that Caruviel would never (however unlikely it was before) ever be happy with the Prince.

She balled her hand into a fist. Her grief, renewed by passion, flared up stronger and she began to cry. Her tears rolled down her nose, tickling maliciously before falling off into the water and creating concentric ripples.

What would it be like if she just allowed herself to fall forward? To enter the water and never bother leaving it. She would not have to marry the Prince. She leaned forward slightly.

But no, she could not do that. Something within herself held her back.

She sat very still. For a long time too. Her mind locked down. She needed to control her emotions. It wouldn’t do for her to return to the party like this. As her thoughts slowly returned to her the lake stilled. Perhaps she should lie down?

Caruviel’s lay backwards across the jetty. Her arms flung outwards and her knuckles rapped painfully on the sculptured wood.

“Ow!” She hissed, sitting up just as suddenly as she had lain down. She kissed the back of her hand where it had hit the jetty. It hadn’t broken the skin, but her recklessness may win her some small bruises.

It wasn’t until she looked past her hand that she realised she was being watched.

There was a woman reflected in the lake. Blurry and indistinct but outlined in moonlight. Caruviel looked up, trying to locate the elf she had seen. She had to have been an elf. There was no non-elf people in the woods.

There was no one there. She looked back down at the lake; the reflection was gone too. She looked up again just in time to see a shadow slip between some branches before they swung back into place.

“Hello?” She called out to the darkness. The darkness offered no answer.

Caruviel stood up. There was something about this woman, she needed to see her. Not just because her silhouette showed very little sign of clothing. Why was she watching her? How was she obscuring herself? and why? Did she even exist at all?

Suddenly these questions were far more important to her than returning to the party.

Caruviel looked to her right and left, trying to decide which way would take the least time to cross. Decision made. Caruviel looked down at her dress. It wasn’t much of a sacrifice, if she had her way then every dress of hers this white would be destroyed. But as it were, she just had this one. She reached down and tore it to thigh-length.

She ran to the start of the jetty, then turned and ran. Caruviel dived head first off the wood, her arms coming up to form a point just as she entered the water. The water rushed past her ears and she grinned. She breached the surface and began to swim.

Caruviel plodded up to the other bank, her gown ruined and dripping. She immediately jogged over to the gap in the trees where the woman had vanished.

Pulling back the branches, she couldn’t see much out of the ordinary. Not much to suggest someone had come through here, and certainly nothing recently.

Wait, what was that? Out of the corner of her eye was a flickering. She turned towards it. Gone.

Nevertheless, it was better than nothing. She ran over to where she had seen it, the light of the moon faded slowly as she ran further out of the clearing.

Caruviel followed the flickers of movement, shadows on bark, and swaying branches for a good half an hour. There was something… important about following this trail.

Then the trail stopped.

Caruviel looked around, had she missed something?

Caruviel shook her head, a fog seemed to be seeping into her mind. She looked around. She didn’t recognise anything around her.

There were still pine and beech trees, but there were also others, trees she didn’t recognise. They were nowhere near as wide as the beeches, and had dark brown bark. They had drooping branches, with the ends falling down like ribbons. Standing in the shade of one as she was, it seemed most of the foliage was towards the outer edge of the plant.

She was thoroughly lost.

“Which way did I come from?” Caruviel asked herself. She stared around the clearing, trying to picture the way she had come to here in her recent memory. It would likely not help, even if she could remember. Her path following the shadow had twisted and turned, doubling back on itself even.

The party was likely still going, so no one would come look for her for a while, if at all.

“You tracked me well for an elf.” Said a croaky voice from behind her.

Caruviel whipped around, but the source of the voice was gone.

“Who are you?” She asked the clearing tentatively.

“Who?” the voice asked. Caruviel turned towards the source of noise, finding nothing once more.

“Please?” Caruviel tried. “Are you the shadow that has led me here?”

“Yes, and no.”

“What do you mean?” Caruviel asked, backing up against the trunk of the tree.

“You followed me, but I was not the one to lead you.” The voice said, croaking in her ear. The elf jumped at the whisper. Caruviel settled after a few seconds, and thought about what she had heard.

“You said I track well; do you mean that you were trying not to be followed?” she asked. Oh no. “Please don’t hurt me, I didn’t want to follow you, whoever you are.”

“I know you did not intend to follow me, but you were led here for a purpose.”

“What? I thought you said I wasn’t led here.” She asked.

“Not at all, you were led here, and for a reason.” The voice said.

“What reason?” Caruviel asked.

“To say hello.” Said the voice. For the first time, Caruviel looked over at the voice and managed to find its owner. As Caruviel gazed upon the strange woman, she felt heat suffuse her body. It was like when she was kissing Narixina, but all at once, the cloud lighting up instead of flowing outwards. Some might call her strange, others would disagree and call her monstrous. From the feeling flowing throughout Caruviel, she was all that and more.

She was vaguely elfin. She looked like she could probably pass for one of the far elves. Her arms were webbed with green veins, standing out from her sepia skin.

She was balanced on the balls of her feet, as if she was ready to pounce at any moment. Instead of nails she had curved claws. The soles were sat into the saddles of a pair of tight leather pants. They stretched and bunched beneath the muscle of the leg it covered. It left very little to the imagination, tight enough that it outlined the woman’s lower lips. Caruviel had seen Cow-leather before, even horse-leather, but this… this was like leaves. It extended up the legs to hips, far wider than an elf’s hips.

Above this was another article of leaf leather clothing, a jacket. Perhaps a better descriptor was ‘skin-tight tunic’. It hugged her body, compressing her breasts slightly, but not enough to be unhealthy for long periods of time. Caruviel looked twice at them, surely there was no way they could be that big? No elf had breasts anywhere near that large except when they were with child, and even then, so very rarely. They must be… what was the human term? B cup?

There were no sleeves on the tunic, the leather just gave way to rippling muscle. The skin was pockmarked by scars, small scratches to large, shiny burns. Her oddly long fingers were tipped with inch long claws, similar to those on her toes. Caruviel tried to suppress the thought of what they would feel like tracing over her skin.

Her hair was thick, wavy, and dark. Vine-like tendrils slithered through it here and there. Her ears were pointed like an elf’s, but they extended unnaturally far backwards, warped and stretched. Her oddly large eyes were narrowed as she observed Caruviel take a breath in. Inside those eyes burned something. She couldn’t tell what, but that glowing yellow was impossible without some outside help.

Her face was flecked with scars too, like the six that went outwards from her mouth. Three on the top lip, three on the bottom. The lips opened to reveal teeth. Sharp, triangular teeth. Teeth made for tearing flesh. Caruviel shuddered, imagining them tearing into the hide of a deer, the leg of a forest-pheasant, her own shoulder as she was embraced from behind. A smile stretched the woman’s mouth, and she let a long, pointed tongue lol out.

Caruviel’s eyes were drawn, inexorably, as if this was the grandest feature of the woman’s appearance, to her neck. Upon it was a leather collar. Not leaf leather like the other clothes, but tanned flesh. It was quite plain really, unadorned. Just tied with a simple leather cord. But as Caruviel stared at it, she suddenly felt like it was important.

Staring at the collar, Caruviel didn’t even outwardly react when she felt slight gust of wind, and a different voice in her ear.

“_Salutations_.”

It was both stern and kind. Caring and proud, it was the voice of someone that people would come from all over the world just to listen to her speak. On art, on literature, anything.

The fog slowly faded from Caruviel’s brain, and she looked over at the other person in the clearing. Her blush deepened further than she could have thought possible.

“You have heard her, excellent.” The other woman smiled, her eyes becoming unfocussed. “Oh yes, I have pleased her.”

Caruviel fell to the ground, still leaning against the tree.

“Who… who was that?” She asked, staring at the woman. “Who are you, who takes such a… terrifying visage?” The woman’s eyes snapped back to focus.

“Who was that? My Mistress, of course.” She said, and licked her lips. Caruviel tried not to focus on that tongue.

“Mistress? What do you mean? And speak plainly this time.” Caruviel said, adding the instruction quickly.

“My Mistress, who I serve eternal.” She said, eyes shining brighter and taking a step towards her. She clenched her hands, the claws sliding past each other. Caruviel felt a spasm somewhere below, and a build-up of liquid so voluminous that it began to trickle down her thighs. The woman sniffed at the air. “Oh. You are truly perfect.”

“What…?” Caruviel began to ask, but then she absorbed the last word of the woman’s statement. Perfect? She? What? No? There must be some sort of… Caruviel’s brain shuddered to a halt, the only reason someone would want her would be as a way to financial success, while thinking nought of her own wants and needs. “I’m not going to be some bartering chip, so you can shove off.”

“You misunderstand now.” She sighed. “I was just the same, before I truly found her.” She reached up and touched the collar around her neck.

Caruviel’s eyes slipped back to the collar. Something inside of pulsed in recognition.

“By the lake, was that truly your first moment of intimacy?” The woman chuckled. “If so, it is truly a disappointment. Tell me, would you like me to be your second?”

“H- “ Caruviel cut herself off, despite all evidence that she craved this strange woman, something felt off. Something in her mind was trying to tell her that something alien was at work here. In the old stories, like those of Siriel, it was not the monstrous villains who wooed the elf maiden, but faceless mortal men; even if she despised it. “N-no. I am to be married within the week.”

“Is she as pretty as me?” The woman croaked. Caruviel barely stopped herself from gasping as she took another step towards her, fluttering her eyelids in mockery of flirtatiousness.

“No.” Caruviel averted her eyes. “I am arranged to marry the Prince.”

“What?” She asked, and Caruviel sensed she was amused. “How ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?”

“Mistress led you here.” She asked, and placed a hand over the collar at her throat. She closed her eyes. “I do not think you will have to marry any such Prince.”

The woman shuddered for a moment, and then opened her eyes. She turned them back to Caruviel, brow set in… was that a sympathetic expression?

“You poor thing.” She said, dropping into a squat, and then into a kneel sat atop her legs. “I’m so sorry that your people cursed you with that.”

“Cursed with what?”

“No one should grow up denied like that. It truly is fortuitous that I managed to find you now, before you are to have nuptials.” The woman said. She tilted her head. “Have you ever found yourself lusting after your fellow maidens?”

Caruviel blushed. This strange creature had seemed prepared to tear her limb from limb a few minutes ago, but now she was talking plainly.

“I thought so.” The woman smiled. “As I said, it truly is fortunate I found you now; no one should be forced to marry someone they do not love.”

“Thank you.” Caruviel whispered.

“Oh, but I’ve been terribly rude.” The woman said, “I’ve not introduced myself, I am my Mistress’ Stinger.”

“Hello, miss… Stinger.” Caruviel said. “My name is C-“

“Uh uh,” Stinger said, and waggled a finger at the elf. “I’ll not need to know that name.”

“Why not?” Caruviel said. Surely it was just politeness to allow someone to know her name when they talked?

“Just know that it would be quite rude of me to know that name.” She said, smiling as if she were being polite.

“Oh, okay.”

“You seem shy… But I know my Mistress is not wrong about you.” She asked and grinned, her mouth forming a sort of grimace that Caruviel realised was her biting her lip, but in a way that didn’t actually break the skin with her sharp teeth. “So, would you like a kiss?”

Caruviel was unable to move, wanting to kiss this strange woman but…

“Ready?” Stinger said, falling onto all fours, she looked just as comfortable as upright. The leather-clad woman began to slink her way towards Caruviel. She lowered her voice to a hiss. “If I’m wrong, all you have to do is say.”

The sight of the woman approaching renewed the heat between Caruviel’s legs. She bit her lip as Stinger crept up her lower forelimbs. Those teeth looked very sharp, oh so deadly. Caruviel’s eyes swept between the eyes of the woman to her neck.

Could she? Everything she had known said that this was out of the ordinary. Surely no one would approve. She might get in trouble; she might get hurt.

Siriel might have gotten hurt when she crossed the Brushtan pass. Siriel did so anyway, because she was brave.

Caruviel wanted to be brave.

She moved first, pressing her lips against Stinger’s.

Heat bloomed from their lips and a moan was drawn from the depths of Caruviel’s throat. She was surely dripping wet, she needed to be closer. Closer to Stinger.

“_Closer to me_.”

Caruviel’s eyes drooped closed at the sound of the voice again. Yes, she wanted to be closer to the voice too. It was as soft as dripping honey. She might have wondered if that was a valid analogy, but she wasn’t focussed on that.

Caruviel looped her arms around the woman’s neck. The tendrils in Stinger’s hair poked out and began to paw at her arms. Stinger’s tongue poked out too, tasting Caruviel’s lips. On instinct, she opened her mouth, allowing the tongue entrance.

She felt it slide into her mouth and her eyes rolled back. This was no chaste kiss, like she had shared with Narixina. It wasn’t the sort of kiss that would send her off on a poetic soliloquy afterwards. This was the sort of kiss where screams of ecstasy would shortly follow. With a tongue the size of Stinger’s, screams were practically guaranteed.


	2. Day 2

Caruviel sat up. Why was she out in the forest? It was such an early hour too. She should probably get home. She moved to stand up and felt the draught around her calves.

Her dress was ripped.

She had ripped it when she pursued the shadow through the woods The shadow that turned out to be Stinger. The chase. Caruviel had followed Stinger’s shadows to a clearing…

Stinger. Caruviel bit her lip at the memory of the strange woman. She looked around; Stinger was gone. The clearing looked different in the morning light. Were those beech trees really there? Was this really the clearing she had followed Stinger to? Was this really where they had… well, they had talked about things. Like her Mistress. Stinger’s Mistress.

Was that the voice she had heard?

Then they were kissing. Oh, it made Caruviel weak to think about. If only she could have asked Stinger to go further when the odd woman had withdrawn that long, sensuous tongue from Caruviel’s mouth and asked if it compared to her earlier kiss.

She hadn’t been able to respond. But Stinger smiled, seeming to guess the correct answer.

Then… And Then… What then?

Had Stinger said something? It got blurry after that. Surely, she couldn’t have fallen asleep? Could she?

Caruviel yawned. It had been such a restful sleep. Sleep? Why did that seem such an alien concept? She rubbed her eyes, glancing up between the leaves in the trees. The sun was high in the sky, it must be pretty late in the morning.

Caruviel jumped up, her eyes wide. She was late for Intë’s wedding!

She glanced around and saw a tree-woven structure. What good fortune, she must have stumbled back to the village.

She ran over, and was even more relieved to discover it was her parent’s house. She slipped in the back door and upstairs. Her long hair shed dry leaves as she ran up to her room. A note was pinned to her door.

‘We’ve gone to Intë’s wedding without you, since you obviously care not for our reputation enough to show up when we left last night.’

A prickle of guilt struck inside her, what was she thinking, going after the shadow last night? She had obviously upset her parents. Caruviel bit her lip and pushed inside, she flung her ruined dress off and let it drift to the floor.

She didn’t have time to cry now, but the thorny ball of guilt was still tearing up her insides. She was a horrid daughter, not even grateful that they had gone to so much effort to set up a marriage to royalty-

‘_Enough of that_.’

The voice nearly made her double over with pleasure. The thorns were replaced by a warm glow. Caruviel closed her eyes, trying to capture the feeling in her memory. Everything felt so… so much, and ‘so much’ began to descend down her legs.

She shook her head and wiped away the ghosts of tears. The voice was right, this was no time to cry and think those terrible thoughts. She did, however reluctant as she might be, need to make her way to Intë’s wedding.

Caruviel stepped over to her closet and picked out the plain blue gown her mother had instructed her to wear the previous day. It wasn’t her most flattering dress, but mother said that was important for a wedding, no one should overshadow the bride as she was transferred from the protection of her father to her new husband.

After the gown was on her, she slipped into a new pair of shoes, her previous ones presumably still at the edge of the pier beside Lake Mas.

She flew downstairs and made her way out of the house and over to the meeting-hall, where the wedding would be taking place.

As she ran, Caruviel’s mind drifted back to the previous night again. Stinger was far from a story’s beauty, and Caruviel far from a faceless mortal man. Stinger was so different to Narixina, too. How odd that her only two kissing companions were both women, and that they were so different from one another.

Stinger’s hair was incredible, sure, but it was perhaps the most normal thing about her. Those yellow eyes, too large to be natural, had stared into her. Those fangs, how she had wanted to feel them on her skin. Her claws made Caruviel shiver, for they would surely tear her up inside, and yet…

The meeting hall came into view and Caruviel let herself slow. Intë was outside still, her father beside her, the ceremony had not yet begun.

Caruviel waved as she passed and entered the hall. She craned her neck, looking at the rows of chairs. Ah, there they were. Caruviel made her way over to her parents’ row.

“Excuse me.” She said, squeezing past the first few people in the row, slowly making her way to where her parents sat. She saw her mother shoot her a dirty look, which she tried her best to ignore.

Arriving where they sat, her heart fell. The seats to each side of them were occupied, they hadn’t saved her a seat.

“You finally managed to find us, hey?” Her father said.

“Yes sir.” Caruviel said, glancing to either side of the two. “You didn’t save me a seat?”

“Well, we weren’t sure you would even show up, what with the vanishing act you pulled last night.” Her mother said. She rolled her eyes and turned to the woman beside her. “Please could you move up, my daughter managed to find her way here.”

The woman glanced from Caruviel to her mother and shifted a seat up. Caruviel sat in her place, trying her best to shrink into the chair.

“We’ll discuss your punishment later.” Her mother whispered as music began, heralding the arrival of the bride. Intë was led up the aisle by her father, ready to give her away.

Caruviel shivered involuntarily. Her stomach churned, far from the guilt from before, this was just nausea. Perhaps she shouldn’t have run so fast?

She exhaled. She could get through this.

As with all weddings, it was intensely boring. Caruviel’s eyes glazed over as the officiant talked the congregation through the proceedings. Two of Intë’s fiancé’s cousins brought over a chest of woven wood to Intë’s father. No doubt it was filled with many valuables to serve as a dowry.

Caruviel looked away. She had seen many weddings in her near hundred years, and this would be no different. Hers would be no different. Her father would walk her up the aisle to give her away to Illuvian, some distant cousin would bring a chest of valuables to her father. As was happening to Intë right now, Caruviel would be forced to give her vows of service, and though Illuvian would give back vows; none watching could acknowledge them an equal of her own vows.

As Intë and her new husband kneeled before the officiant, ready to receive the final blessing, Caruviel’s eyes began to moisten. This was the fate that awaited her. She took a shuddering breath, and despite how much she tried to push the pain down, it kept coming.

Never again would she feel her lips pressed against those of a fellow maiden, or whatever Stinger was. She would never again swim in Lake Mas. She would never again, although she hadn’t for years, pretend to be asleep so her Mother would not bother finishing the tale of Siriel before she slept. She was to be…

Caruviel clenched her jaw.

She was…

There was only six nights to her wedding.

Tears began to slide down her face, despite her trying to blink them away. Caruviel tried to stealthily wipe them on her sleeve, but just as she swiped one away, a new one would well up; ready to take its place.

She was going to cry out, or someone would notice her tears. She just knew.

“_Calm yourself, my darling_.”

The voice rang in Caruviel’s ears, and she managed to pass of a moan as a stifled sneeze. She buried her head in her hands. A wave of calm had washed over her. She dabbed at her cheeks with her sleeves, which now left them dry and unblemished.

Caruviel sat back in her seat and smiled. How fortuitous that the voice was here. She breathed deeply; she was lucky. As her eyes drifted back over to the wedding, she did not see it, and she was quite sure no one saw her.

When had she first heard the voice? Oh yes, when she had been with Stinger in the woods. What sort of a person did the voice belong to? A woman, surely. Both in stature and persuasion. Caruviel wondered idly if she were an elf, but no, that would be strange. Caruviel couldn’t exactly put her finger on why that would be strange, only that it would be.

Caruviel wondered for a moment, was Stinger an elf? She looked mostly like one. But she had never seen an elf with teeth like those. They were so sharp, made for tearing flesh. Once again, Caruviel let her mind slip to an image of Stinger embracing her from behind, those sharp teeth clamping onto her shoulder. She bit her lip and felt herself grow moist as the daydream Stinger slid a long, sharp finger down, and then up, drawing the hem of her gown with it. Caruviel could practically feel it rubbing inside of her as it was joined by another.

She crossed her arms, gripping her biceps as the woman in her mind’s eye was thrusting her hand deeper and deeper. A third finger joined the others inside her. Caruviel bit her lip to stifle a squeak. Stinger unlatched from her shoulder, the holes in her flesh letting forth small flows of blood. More than enough to permanently stain her gown; but neither of them cared for that thing. It was just getting in the way. Using the hand that wasn’t thrusting four incredible fingers into her, Stinger tore the elf maiden’s gown away.

Caruviel felt the blood drip down to her elbow. The pain from her bite only grew more painful, and more pleasurable, as Stinger drew her long tongue around the ring formed by her teeth. Stinger’s thumb slipped off of Caruviel’s clitoris, joining the rest of her hand as it thrust into her.

Stinger’s tongue wound its way up Caruviel’s neck, over her jaw, past her cheek, flicking her hair. Caruviel groaned, it was all so much… the tongue, the bite, and the hand inside her.

“Caruviel!” A voice hissed from beside her.

Caruviel’s eyes flicked open and focussed on her mother, looking extremely angry.

“What are you doing?” She hissed, gesturing to her arm. Caruviel glanced down, her nails had broken the skin. Blood really was dripping down to her elbow.

“Oh no.” She whispered.

“Stay quiet.” Her mother said, drawing the attention of the people surrounding them. She thrust a handkerchief towards her. “And clean yourself up.”

Caruviel snatched the scrap of cloth out of the air and wiped her arm up from the elbow, leaving red streaks behind it. Passing the scratches, Caruviel folded the handkerchief and repeated the gesture, allowing the cloth to come to rest over her wounds.

She let out a breath that she hadn’t known she was holding. It was probably best she had, otherwise it would have been oh so easy to let the breaths slip into moans. Like she moaned in the daydream as Stinger’s entire hand-. Caruviel cut off that trail of thought, it wouldn’t do to accidently hurt her other arm as well.

Shooting a glance at her mother, they met eyes for a moment before her mother looked away. Caruviel could see the suspicion there. To be honest, Caruviel was curious herself. Sure, she had gone through something of a sexual awakening the previous night, but two of these daydreams in such short succession was odd. Such incredibly bawdy visions too, of claws and teeth and blood.

Caruviel looked up at the ceremony, just in time to catch the very end of the final act that would marry Intë and her new husband. The wedding had simply flown by, or Caruviel had been so caught up in her daydream that she hadn’t bothered paying attention to the grandstanding. Perhaps she merely allowed herself to mentally slip away to preserve her wakefulness from the wrath of the boring ceremony.

Removing the handkerchief, Caruviel checked her wounds. They seemed to have stopped flowing, and really didn’t seem all that large. She slipped the handkerchief into her waist-tie; doubtful her mother would want it returned in its presently soiled state.

The row of seats stood up, and Caruviel followed them in leaving through the back of the aisle of the hall. As they left the doors, her father took hold of her arm and steered her away from the crowds waiting for the bride and groom to leave.

“Where were you?” He said when they rounded the corner of the hall. “We had no idea where you’d gone, and you made us look like fools in front of our hosts.”

“I- I went off to talk with the other maidens.” She said, hoping he would believe her.

“Don’t be ridiculous, as if you would spend time with them.” Her mother said, rounding the corner as well. “And then you just vanish until this morning. I wouldn’t have believed it of my own daughter.”

“I’m sorry.” Caruviel said. It was best to just try and placate them, if she got this over with soon then they wouldn’t built up any more anger. “I didn’t mean to, I got lost.”

“You got lost, now?” Her father said mockingly. “I thought you were with the other maidens.”

“I was but they left me.”

“A likely story.” Her father said.

“And then you show up to Intë’s wedding only just before it’s due to start, and then start tearing yourself to pieces in your seat; which, might I remind you, we had to ask someone to move for.” Her mother added.

“I’m-“ Caruviel started, but she cut herself off. Music had started up around the corner, where Intë and her new husband were now leaving the hall.

“We’ll assign your punishment tomorrow, just don’t let anything of the sort happen again.” Her mother said and shook her head. “Tearing yourself open a week before your wedding, you’ll have to wear sleeves on the dress.” With that, both her parents turned and walked back to the procession as if nothing had happened.

Caruviel followed; but something was… odd. The music, it wasn’t exactly like she had heard previously at a wedding procession. It was exactly the same, but somehow different. A bolt of something shot through her, and Caruviel felt her fear and shame from the last few minutes fade slightly. She raised her head to look at the procession, and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why, but she smiled.

Intë and her husband passed, followed by the immediate family and bridal party, and then the crowd around them began to follow. It shifted into a line, lengthening the procession. The head of the party had climbed on horses and was making its way over to the other side of town, slowly, to where the reception would be taking place. Caruviel fell into step behind her parents as they joined the procession.

She ignored her parents fawning over the ceremony, and Instead she re-inspected her arm-wounds. They seemed to have mostly stopped bleeding, but Caruviel did give them another wipe with the handkerchief nonetheless.

The snaking procession slowly made its way to the reception venue. Before she knew it, Caruviel had sat down next to her parents at one of the guests’ tables. To her great dissatisfaction, Illuvian’s family were also seated there. Caruviel averted her eyes from his across the table. How she wished she could pluck out those wandering eyes of his.

As the ninety-five or so years passed between their first meeting and now, Illuvian had continued to grow into a fine young man. Which is to say, he was an entitled letch.

“Dear me, what are those unsightly scars on your arm?” He said, feigning politeness to draw the attention of everyone on the table to the wounds.

“An accident.” She said dourly. “Nothing you need to discuss.”

“If my fiancé has had her honour besmirched in any way, she need only ask me, and I shall be rid of the scoundrel that did the deed.”

Caruviel’s hands made fists under the table. There were two ways to take the offer, he was saying that she might have ‘dishonoured’ herself with another man, or that another man ‘dishonoured’ her. What he was suggesting, it made her sick. The veiled threat upon her seen clearly only by Caruviel, and him.

He was always like this. Slights upon her person disguised as concern. She swallowed, trying to control the impulse to lash out across the table at him. As if she would ever dishonour herself with a man, and if some man tried to ‘dishonour’ her, she would tear his throat out with her teeth

What? No, that wasn’t-

She swallowed again, successfully controlling the impulse to lash out across the table at him. Luckily, her father had engaged Illuvian and his father in conversation, and his eyes were drawn from her. She glanced around at the table, a treemason and his wife had begun a conversation with her mother. Just their son, barely twenty remained watching her. She scowled at him, and he looked away.

Caruviel’s lips closed, and she wrapped her arms around herself, taking care not to touch her wounds. Curling in on herself and trying to ignore the world, she dimly realised that the table had gone silent. She looked up, dreading seeing their stares, but she wasn’t the subject of their focus, it was the father of the bride, up at the high table, who had begun to make a speech.

She tuned it out like she would a noisy bird, only acknowledging his talk of how Intë’s new husband was a perfect match for his little girl. He must have been pleased with the price he got for her, even though It had seemed like a heavy chest that Intë’s cousins had carried from the wedding hall. Their arms had strained so. They were more muscular than the average elf man, but they had nothing on Stinger.

Stinger’s bear arms had been thick muscled in a way those men could not compare to. Caruviel found herself retreating into her mind’s eye yet again, this time admiring Stinger’s biceps. She pressed a kiss to her companion’s arm.

“I’m sure Mistress finds your appreciation of musculature amusing, but I require you in my undergrowth.” Stinger said, speaking in that same strange manner that she had before. Caruviel didn’t understand at first, but then Stinger grabbed her head with both hands and forced her to her knees.

Caruviel’s eyes widened, Stinger’s legs were bare up to her waist. There, right in front of her, was…

“Pay attention, Caruviel.” Illuvian said from across the table, chastising her just loud enough to interrupt the speech from the bride’s father.

Eyes turned towards her from around the dining room. Caruviel felt them burn into her, like so many pinpricks on her skin.

To speak against him would be folly, it would cause a scene, this Caruviel knew. She had no choice but to take it, but she would not acknowledge guilt.

She turned back to the father of the bride, and, far slower than she would have liked, people resumed focus on him as he began to speak again. Caruviel saw, out of the corner of her eye, Illuvian give a small smile.

She had often wondered why he did it. Was it merely to get a reaction from her? No matter what her parents said when she complained about it at just 30 years old, it was not because he liked her and wanted attention. No, he must get some sort of sick pleasure from playing with her mind like that, turning the people around her against her. If she didn’t know better, she might think he had convinced her parents that she was to be his bride, not her parents convincing his. That’s probably why he went along with it, anyway.

Caruviel shivered slightly.

A strange wind flowed through the hall.

Glancing around, Caruviel saw everyone else sitting comfortably, as if the wave of cool air had not just swept through them.

She looked up at the head table. The father of the bride was concluding his speech, and lifted a fine crystal drinking flute.

The wind began to fade slightly, but Caruviel could swear she could still hear the whispers of it.

The father of the groom tapped the flute with a spoon. The signal to bring in the first course. Servers spilled out across the floor of the hall, each holding a wide tray with several plates balanced upon it.

The smell of food drifted lazily across the reception hall. Caruviel sniffed lightly, and realised that she was very hungry. She realised just then that… the last time she had eaten must have been over twenty-four hours ago at lunch the previous day. She gripped her stomach. Not long now.

The head table was the first to have their meals placed in front of them, of course. Caruviel barely noticed what was placed in front of her, and she dove in.

“Does my future wife require me to show her how to use a napkin?” Illuvian said from across the table. Caruviel’s eyes snapped up, only glancing to the napkin beside her place setting for a microsecond. “Or is she fine with ruining such a pretty gown?”

She swallowed the bite of unsatisfactory greenery in her mouth.

“I’m fine, thank you.” She said, trying to hold back the venom she longed to allow slip into her tone. She gestured to her spotless gown, she hadn’t checked, but she knew she was very careful. “And if you consider this ruined, you might want to go to the ocularist.”

“Caruviel.” Her father said sternly. “Use the napkin, that’s what it’s there for.”

She would probably pay for that barb at Illuvian’s expense later, but for then she contented herself with grinding salad between her teeth with extra intensity. After she had begrudgingly applied the napkin to her lap.

She chewed the fish after finishing with the leafy vegetables. It was wholly unsatisfying, the way it flaked to tasteless pieces in her mouth with just the lightest pressure. She finished anyway, lest one of her parents, or the Prince, notice and criticise her for it.

The main and desert passed similarly, with a tense silence from her, interrupted ever so often by one of Illuvian’s ‘attempts at polite conversation’. The sky outside the tent grew to a pale orange as the courses and speeches droned on for hours. They continued until it was dark out, and time for the final trial of the day.

It was something she was truly dreading. The dance. As Prince Illuvian’s fiancé she would be expected to take to the floor with him just after the married couple’s first dance.

Intë and her husband stood from the high table. He led her out onto the small dance-floor as a band in the corner started to play. In her periphery, Caruviel notice Illuvian raise from his seat. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and prepares for him to ask her to dance. A formality.

She waited, eyes shut, for a minute. The invitation never came.

She opened her eyes. Illuvian had taken to the dancefloor by himself. Could he…? Could he have actually chosen to look to what she felt? Detected that she obviously loathed the prospect of dancing with him, and he left her to her own devices while he had his fun. She felt a small trickle of… not respect, nor affection, just an amount of gratitude flow into the pail that was her hatred for him. Then he ruined it.

Caruviel noticed a dancing couple pass by him. The man said something to the Prince, clearly in a jovial manner. Illuvian replied, throwing back his head and giving a false laugh, and pointed to her. The couple’s eyes drifted to her. Their faces faded from mild amusement to disapproval.

That’s when she realised the actual reason that he hadn’t asked her to dance. To stand up her fiancé for a dance a few days before their wedding was unacceptable, it was simply not done, and that’s exactly what Illuvian was telling them what had happened.

Eyes began to turn to her as the Prince crossed the dancefloor. Looks of contempt spreading like disease, and the infection began to spread further than just subject zero. Up at the high table Intë sat next to her new mother-in-law, who turned her face to Caruviel, giving her a look that said ‘really?’.

Her own mother cleared her throat behind her.

Caruviel felt herself grow cold. Her stomach swirled, the various courses churning violently within her.

“Well?” Her mother asked. “Aren’t you going to go dance with your Prince?”

“I- I-“ Caruviel stuttered. Could she? Could she walk up to him right there on the dance floor, where he flaunted a rebellious fiancé, and prove him wrong? It would almost be worth it to wipe the jolly grin off his face. But what would happen then? She would have to dance. She would have to be near him.

She felt a lurch in her stomach.

“I need to go.” Caruviel said hurriedly, and stood. “I’m not feeling well.”

“Very well, undermine our work for a century.” Her father snapped. Caruviel was already gone.

She kicked off her shoes at the edge of the tent, leaving her feet bare as she ran home.

She took the most direct route, which meant cutting through corners of people’s homes.

Caruviel slowed when she was away from the tent, breathing moderately. She doubled over in a hedge, and hurled her guts out into the soil. The entirety of the reception’s food was in front of her. She spat, hoping to rid some of the bile taste from her mouth, to no avail. She wiped her mouth on a sleeve.

Hobbling her way home, Caruviel had to stop twice more to dry heave in garden beds, even though she had nought left in her. Although she had been cold in the tent, here it felt uncomfortably warm. She continued along and reached her family home, far from soon enough.

Caruviel collapsed into her bed, breathing heavily. The blood roared in her ears. They had all turned to face her, on just the word of the Prince they had glared in scorn.

Intë, Illuvian, her parents, the wedding, everyone, it was all so much.

Intë had changed so much.

Out of the dimmer parts of Caruviel’s mind, a memory surfaced.

“Marriage?” Caruviel had asked the other ten-year-old. “What’s that?”

“It’s when you promise to love someone.” Intë said in reply. “And there’s a big ceremony and all your friends are there.”

“That sounds nice.” Caruviel said. “I wonder who I can marry?” She looked down at her doll, Siriel, clutched under her arm. If she promised to love Siriel, did that mean her hero wouldn’t have to love a faceless mortal man?

“My mum said I’m not allowed to marry Prince Illuvian.” Intë said bitterly.

“Prince Illuvian?” Caruviel asked. “Why would you want to marry him?”

“Because he’s the Prince.” She said, as if this were the only reason needed. “But mum says I’m not allowed, someone else is.”

“Oh no.” Caruviel said. She hadn’t known who Illuvian’s bride was to be at that point. She had hoped whoever it was would, if anyone could, love Illuvian.

“So, I decided something.” Intë said. She smiled at Caruviel. “I’m not going to get married, not to anyone but the Prince.”

“But you said your mum said its not allowed?” Caruviel asked, puzzled.

“Then I’ll not marry anyone until I am allowed to marry him.” She smirked. It was the same smirk that she had worn at her wedding reception while she told her mother about Illuvian’s wilful fiancé refusing to dance.

Caruviel curled into a ball on her bed. The thin mattress contoured itself to her easily. It wasn’t unusual for her to curl up here.

Tears began to well beneath her eyelids as she lay there. It was all just so much. It would be so much easier if she could just lie there forever, no wedding, no parents, no scorn.

If only.


	3. Day 3

Caruviel awoke in a humble nest. Just her blanket and pillow wrapped around her, with a wet stain beneath her cheek where the tears had fallen late into the night.

Despite the circumstances which led to her sleep, the sleep itself was… good. Suffice it to say that her pillow wasn’t all that was wet.

Stinger had visited in her dreams. Caruviel had been lying on the forest floor in a glade, like but unlike where she and Stinger had met the previous night. Stinger’s head lay atop her exposed chest, tongue flitting out every so often and tenderly striking one of Caruviel’s nipples. She felt so good, her whole being simmering with… something warm, something incredible, whatever it was, it felt so very good. What Caruviel wouldn’t give for this to last forever.

Of course, it couldn’t, but with what the cosseting gave way to it was no steep sacrifice. Stinger rolled on top of Caruviel and pinned her arms above her head with one of her own. Their lips pressed together in a short kiss before separating.

“How desperate you must be.” She said. Her hand brushed Caruviel’s healing wounds from the wedding hall. “I saw you there at the wedding, you know.”

Caruviel just whined. Trapped here, beneath someone she so desired; to have her do nought but tease was vexing.

“What naughty things you were thinking of.” Stinger said, as she dragged a clawed hand down Caruviel’s chest. Her nails eliciting a hiss from the elf below her and leaving thin white lines behind them. She leaned in, pressing her cheek to Caruviel’s, and spoke into her ear. “Make no mistake, my claws would indeed tear you up inside.”

Caruviel felt that same clawed hand cup her sex. Her back arched upwards at the touch, desperately pressing into Stinger’s chest.

“Please.” She managed to whine out.

“Please what?” Stinger asked, playing innocent as she drew her hand up ever so slightly, letting her middle finger come to rest between Caruviel’s lower lips.

“Please-“ Caruviel was cut off by Stinger’s kiss, and this time, the strange woman probed forth with her long tongue. Caruviel opened her mouth wide, favouring entry of the organ. She nearly bit down when Stinger’s hand began to move. Her middle finger withdrew, then plunged into Caruviel, claw and all.

Caruviel’s eyes rolled backwards in her head. The heel of Stinger’s hand ground against her. She couldn’t breathe past the tongue in her throat.

Her unoccupied hand moved to her mouth, desperate to feel that tongue in the waking world while she imitated Stinger’s hand with her own.

With Stinger’s hand moving as roughly as she could, Caruviel slipped two digits into the back of her throat. She gagged around the intrusion and moaned. Body uncurled and legs splayed, she thrust her hips upwards into her fingers, mind clouded over with lust for the woman in her dream.

She pulled her fingers from her mouth, turned her head to the side and bit into the pillow to better muffle her screams of pleasure.

Climbing higher and higher, she eventually came crashing down as her fingers drew another climax from within her. Caruviel crashed down onto her bed, eyes swimming with joyful tears.

Wrapping her arms around the pillow, her teeth left it to allow her to lick at her wet hand.

Her head still muddled, Caruviel allowed herself to fall into a doze, to dream of sharp teeth and long, writhing tongues.

The sun was high in the sky by the time Caruviel was awoken by the horrible hollow feeling in her stomach.

“Uh.” She groaned. She extricated herself from her embrace of the pillow and sat up. Dimly she wondered why her parents hadn’t come to wake her up, they had promised punishment for her disappearance during Intë’s party.

Caruviel crawled upright over to her wardrobe and pulled out a shift. She changed into it stiffly, and put on some slippers before her hunger drove her downstairs.

“Ah, there you are.” Her mother said as she stepped off the bottom step.

“Good morning, Mother.” She said, moving into the kitchen from the sitting room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Her mother asked.

“I” Caruviel said, surely that was obvious? “I was going to prepare some food.”

“We’re due at the course tasting in five minutes.” She said. Oh, that made sense. They had to decide on what was to be served at the reception banquet. At least that would allow her an opportunity to eat, not like a dress fitting. “And there is the matter of disciplining you to consider.” Caruviel’s mother stood and brushed past her and out the front door of the house.

Caruviel stood there non-plussed for a few seconds.

Then realised that that was her mother leaving for the cook’s workshop for the tasting. She jogged out to catch up with her and fell into step behind her.

“Your father and I have discussed your punishment.” She said haughtily, throwing a glance back at Caruviel. “And we have decided to ground you until your wedding.”

What? Grounded? She wasn’t a child!

“You will only leave the house for wedding preparations, with either me or your father.” She continued.

Caruviel was mystified more than upset. Why would she leave the house when unnecessary? She had no friends here, no one to hang out with, no reason to ever… A thought, or perhaps memory, of Narixina kissing her by the lake sprung to mind.

Oh no, had her mother found out about that somehow? She hadn’t seen anyone around, but she had been rather distracted in the moment.

No. Caruviel refused to acknowledge that possibility. This was surely just them not knowing how to punish her, that’s all. Just being grounded until her wedding was more than bearable, after all.

Another kiss sprung to mind.

Sure, she hadn’t seen Stinger since that night, but if there was a possibility of seeing her soon, Caruviel would definitely want to do so.

“And then after the wedding, we will be recommending that the Prince continue the punishment.” Her mother said, with a tone of finality.

Caruviel blanched. No. Please no.

“Mother, I-“ She was cut off as her mother rounded on her.

“You had better be grateful that we’re being so light on you.” She said. “If I ran off a week before my wedding my mother would have skinned me alive, but we have decided to be merciful.”

“Yes, mother.” Caruviel said, paling still. Only when her mother had turned and continued along the path to the cook’s workshop did Caruviel allow herself to release her held breath.

The cook was waiting for them when they arrived.

“Apologies, my daughter decided to sleep in and keep you waiting.” Her mother said.

Caruviel averted her eyes in shame, while at the same time keeping the thought that her mother hadn’t even tried to wake her firmly lodged in her mind.

“Yes…” The cook said. “Well, I’ve prepared tasting plates of all the dishes you requested, plus a little extra that I thought you might enjoy.”

“Thank you.” Her mother said, and followed the cook inside through to a sitting room, where Illuvian’s mother was waiting.

“Hello there.” Illuvian’s mother greeted them.

“Good morning.” Her own mother said, just on the terse side of polite. “Let’s hope we can find a satisfactory banquet.”

Caruviel was grabbed by the arm and lead into the curved wooden booth where Illuvian’s mother was sitting. She was in the middle of them. She tried to clench her jaw as stealthily as possible.

Her eyes flicked from one to another as they made small talk.

Time dragged on, and she was content to be left out of their talk, wishing she could be anywhere but here.

Anywhere; like behind a tree getting her nethers speared by Stinger’s tongue.

That… that just came out of nowhere. What? What did it mean? True, she had shared a very intimate moment with her, had that brought about this recent string of indecent thoughts? Not that she’d never fantasised about such things before, but irregularly and such physicality had been mostly absent from them. So many, so lascivious, and so close together was out of the ordinary.

Was it just nerves? Most of the visions, daydreams, whatever, had occurred while she was somewhere that reminded her of her dreaded nuptials. But then again, what didn’t remind her of them at the moment?

Oh, wait, this morning; the wedding had been the furthest thing from her mind at the time.

The sound of a door swinging open brought her back to the present. Looking up, she saw the cook bringing in a pair of plates.

For a horrible second she thought he was bringing plates for only the mothers, and that she would go hungry. However, she saw that the plates had different dishes on them. She then realised, of course, they wouldn’t eat an entire plate each for a tasting. They would share each of them.

“The first two dishes.” The cook announced. “Herb crusted lamb’s fry with sprouted cabbage, and hare stew with fresh bread.”

Caruviel inclined her head in thanks to the cook as he left, and picked up a fork at her place setting. She only barely remembered which one to pick up from the complicated array of cutlery before her, but that had been drilled into her over the years, so she was able to remember. If only to avoid the flagellations of the women sitting beside her.

She hesitantly raised the fork to take a strip of lamb. For once, this action did not seem to draw ire from her mother, who was tearing the bread roll accompanying the soup. She lifted the lamb to her mouth.

It was rather tough, was her first thought. The herb flavour thoroughly underwhelmed her. It was barely there it seemed. She chewed the two-inch long strip of liver, and was disappointed as the herb crust quickly sloughed off the meat and melted in her mouth. Now robbed of any positive flavour, she tired of aimlessly gnashing at the meat and swallowed. She left the small sprouted cabbages; they were merely plate dressing.

The hare and lamb switched places, and Caruviel took a spoon to the stew. She had never been much of a fan of hare, it was far too insubstantial for her tastes, and stringy. This was unfortunately the same, the meat was at least tender, it must have been cooked for well over a half a day. The unfortunate little tendons had melted like they were fat in the meaty liquid. The flavour overall was just rather bland. The bread was fine, but not really worth mentioning.

She sighed, restraining herself for now. There would be more, hopefully better, dishes.

“Hmm, quite good.” Her mother said. “Excellent, in fact.” Caruviel couldn’t stop herself from shooting her mother a look of puzzlement.

“Quite so, both such fantastic dishes, it would be difficult to choose just one.” Illuvian’s mother said. Caruviel tensed. They were lying. The food was fine, but hardly fantastic, and the stew was obviously the better of the two. Steadily, she raised her voice.

“I think that the stew is better.” She said. “The lamb’s fry isn’t holding onto the crust, and it’s tough.”

“Ridiculous.” Her mother said, and turned back to her daughter’s soon to be mother in law. “I agree, it is difficult to choose.”

Would she only be allowed to eat, not voice her opinion on what was to be at the banquet? Even if it was not her preference to need a marriage banquet at all.

No. She pushed those thoughts down and her mind darted around for an alternative. Maybe she just got a bad piece? That must have been it.

“The hare is a little bit stringy.” Illuvian’s mother supplied. “I think the fry would be more of a loss.”

“But don’t you think lamb’s fry is a little… common?” Illuvian’s mother said.

The door opened as the cook brought the next two dishes in.

“How are we going, ladies?” He said, setting down the two new dishes and taking the empty plates.

“Very well, we’re having trouble choosing.” Illuvian’s mother said.

“Well, you’ve got plenty of time to decide.” He said. “And if you can’t, please consider an alternating plate setting.”

“Of course.” Her mother said, with a smile on her face that said she would absolutely not consider it. Why, Caruviel couldn’t tell in the slightest, but that was just how her mother seemed to think much of the time.

Really, she should be grateful that she was eating these tester courses at all, even if she wasn’t getting to decide which would be at her wedding. Even if she was being forced into said wedding.

“Individual honeyed chicken pies.” The chef said, gesturing to a plate. “Sausage, onion, and goat’s curd stuffed mushrooms.”

Caruviel shut her eyes as the cook turned to leave, this would test her patience. She re-opened them and reached forwards with a fork to try one of the three stuffed mushrooms on the plate.

She bit into it, and could tell that the mushrooms were quite tender. The flavour of the stuffing, which was actually just scooped into the upside-down cap of the mushroom, was fine at best. The ground meat from the sausage gave it an almost pleasant meaty taste, but it just seemed like there was something missing from it.

The chicken pie was worse, if possible. The pastry seemed barely cooked, and where it met her saliva it congealed like glue in the crevasses of her teeth. The filling was floury and flavourless, and while the chicken itself seemed to satisfy her some, it certainly wasn’t tasty.

Caruviel waited, not bothering to offer judgement that she knew would be rebuffed. Before long, her mother spoke.

“Well, I found both of those quite excellent.”

“Indeed.” Illuvian’s mother said. “I am partial to mushrooms, so I may be a little biased in saying that was my favourite.”

“Mushrooms are a fickle thing.” Her mother said. “Hard to get enough quality ones for a dish like this, better the pie.”

“Of course, you’re quite right.”

“I don’t think either of them are good.” Caruviel said under her breath, half-hoping they heard her. Unfortunately, she got her wish.

“And just why ever do you say that, girl?” Illuvian’s mother asked. Caruviel flinched slightly away at her voice.

“It’s just so bland, all of it.” She mumbled.

“Caruviel, speak up.” Her mother said.

“I said I thought it was bland.” Caruviel said, slightly louder.

“Perhaps you’d like to march into the kitchens and tell the cook what a liar you are?” Her mother asked. “Or perhaps we ought to announce before each course at your banquet what you think of them?”

“No mother.” She said, shrinking in on herself.

“Good, because I’m not going to let you screw this up at the last second.” Her mother said sharply. Illuvian’s mother leaned in.

“Don’t worry dear, I was rather rowdy in my youth.” She said to Caruviel and her mother. “The King managed to whip me into shape. After the wedding you’ll grow to love my son.”

Caruviel’s eyes seemed to slide sideways whilst staying quite still. Her breathing caught, then sped up. Her brain seemed to be going a thousand leagues an hour, but was also standing quite still. Her unfocussed gaze slid up to the cook bringing in some more plates.

“Excuse me.” She managed to slur out.

No one moved. Caruviel glanced around, and turned in her seat. She climbed onto the back of the wooden booth and crawled over to the next.

She couldn’t hear the world as she fell down into the booth next door, then climbed unsteadily to her feet.

Caruviel staggered out the door and around the grey stone sides of the bakery. Her hand scraped painfully across the stone and she pulled it back. She barely noticed a pile of wooden logs and managed to duck behind it, falling to the ground up against the stone.

Her breathing changed, becoming ragged as she tried to drag air into her lungs. Stinging tears welled around her eyes. She felt bile rise in her throat, but swallowed it back down. She couldn’t let herself throw up again. Caruviel sat there, bracing herself against the cool, but rough, stone. Time passed, and she was uncomprehending of its passage in her mind.

Caruviel’s breathing slowed, but while it did, something else began to stir; Seeping through the barrier against thought that she had built in her mind. Whispers of thought, smoky tendrils of doubt, encroached upon her.

“5 more nights.”

“Why does the bride cry?”

“Whipped into shape.”

“Like her.”

“His mother.”

“Doting on the child he requires of you.”

“His wife.”

“His thing.”

“So ungrateful.”

“She would have given a hand for this.”

“She’s going to see you.”

“Everyone is going to see you.”

“Everyone, including- “

“Caruviel?” A voice said from above her. it rang out louder, more urgently. “Caruviel, please stop that.”

Caruviel looked up. Above here, outlined in the afternoon sun, was Narixina. She crouched down next to Caruviel, grabbing her forearms.

Only then did Caruviel realise, her arms had been moving. She tried not to think about what they might have been doing, but the pain made it obvious.

Tears renewed themselves across Caruviel’s cheeks. Shame at this position Narixina found her in bloomed throughout her being. She slid down the wall and onto the grass, curling up with her knees close to her chin.

“Breath with me.” Narixina said. “In.” and she took a breath in. “Out” and she breathed out.

Caruviel let out a sob.

“Please.” Narixina said. “I can’t help until you calm down. Please. In.”

She breathed in, and this time Caruviel attempted to follow. She tripped and stuttered through the inhalation.

“That’s good.” She said. “And out.” She breathed out.

Caruviel began to exhale. She opened her eyes, a deep scrape on her arm from the wall caught her attention. It was bleeding. Narixina must have noticed. The breath hitched in her throat, and a wail formed.

Her sobbing resumed, harder than ever.

Caruviel could feel Narixina next to her, still holding her arms lightly. She waited for the sobs to quiet somewhat before speaking again.

“Please, let’s try again. Okay?” Narixina asked tentatively.

Caruviel nodded.

“Alright, big breath in.” She demonstrated.

Caruviel drew a breath in, wracked by sobs.

“And out.”

Caruviel breathed out.

They continued breathing in and out for a few minutes more. Caruviel slowly felt her breathing steady. Slowly, very slowly, and with Narixina’s help, she shifted out of a ball and into a sitting position. Narixina slowly petered off until they were simply breathing in sync with each other without her instructions.

“Can I ask you why you were out here?” Narixina asked.

“The banquet for my wedding day.” Caruviel said, voice croaky from tears. “I was at the taste testing with Illuvian’s and my mothers.”

“Was it something specific?” Narixina asked. “Or just the wedding?”

“Just-, no. They were lying about the food.” Caruviel said. “They said it was delicious; but they lied. I don’t even know why it matters to me so much.”

“Do you know why they might do that?”

“I don’t know.” Caruviel said. “Maybe my mother wanted to control what the menu was. I tasted it; it was so bland, distasteful, boring. It can’t have been that she actually liked it.”

“There, there, I believe you.” Narixina said, placing a comforting hand on Caruviel’s shoulder. “That guy is a rubbish cook anyway. But he lets rats get to his stores, I was dropping off a shipment.”

“Just terrible.” Caruviel agreed. Something stirred in her memory. “And… Illuvian’s mother said something, she said she was rebellious in her youth, that I would… That I would become a dutiful wife to her son as I grew to love him.”

“That crone wouldn’t have known rebellious if it was right in front of her.” Narixina said, annoyedly. “She shouldn’t have said that. My parents told stories about her sometimes, and if she was a rebel, I’m a dwarf.”

“A dwarf?” Caruviel asked, mystified at the strange word.

“Oh, mountain dwellers, kinda short, but really strong.” Narixina said. “Some pass through occasionally.

“Oh, cool.” Caruviel said. Her face fell again. “I’m just… I don’t want to get married in the first place, and if I did, I would rather die than be like her.”

Narixina was silent for a bit, but then spoke.

“You won’t have to.” She declared. “Come with me when I leave in a few days. We can leave this forest together, and go explore the world, like Siriel.”

Caruviel looked over at her, eyes wide.

“You mean it?” Caruviel said, half stunned, half overjoyed with an unsteady grin spreading across her face. “You’ll take me with you?”

“Yes.” Narixina said. “I thought of asking you the day before yesterday, but, well, I kinda got distracted.”

“Oh, yeah.” Caruviel said, blushing at the memory. Then she remembered. “But I’m grounded.”

“Grounded?”

“Yeah, my parents decided to ground me as punishment for disappearing at the party.” Caruviel said.

“You’re nearly a hundred, and they grounded you?” Narixina said, looking almost incredulous.

“Yeah.”

“Well…” Narixina muttered, trailing off in thought. She seemed to quickly get an idea. “How about you sneak out! tie a bunch of sheets together and climb down from a window.”

“Wow.” Caruviel said, grin reappearing on her face as she stood up. “That’s incredible. It could work!”

“Yeah, I know, I thought of it.” Narixina said, getting to her feet also. Her face became serious again. “Just in case we don’t see each other again before then: Pack some travelling clothes in a bag the night before, then come find me at the western edge of the village.”

“I can do that.” Caruviel smiled. Narixina returned the smile, and before Caruviel knew it, their lips were pressed together again.

The fire inside her, so recently dimmed by sadness, blazed back past its normal state. Caruviel put her hands on either side of Narixina’s face, while seeking entry with her tongue.

Narixina reciprocated by opening her mouth into the kiss, allowing Caruviel to slide her tongue inside.

Warmth swirled around inside her, warming her being.

They slowly separated, Caruviel withdrawing her tongue back into her own mouth. A bolt of pleasure shit through her as she witnessed Narixina’s eyes flutter open.

“We should both probably get going.” Narixina smiled.

“Yeah.” Caruviel said, trying to keep her face steady.

“Well, see you then.” Narixina said, and turned to leave.

“Goodbye.” Caruviel waved.

It was only when Narixina rounded the corner did Caruviel’s face drop. That was… certainly not bad. It was really very good. It felt like she could weather the rest the mothers’ words during the tasting. But the fact remained: it was nowhere near as good as she felt when Stinger had kissed her. In fact, it paled in comparison to their first kiss.

Was this normal? Did this normally happen? She still felt the same way about Narixina as she had on that night, but… it was just like the kiss was so overshadowed by that strange woman’s kiss.

What was happening to her?

Caruviel arrived back in the dining room, feeling as though her heart was wrapped in iron.

“Oh, you have finally returned, Caruviel?” Illuvian’s mother said, moving to give her room to get back to her seat.

“Yes.” Caruviel said bluntly, making no excuses.

“That sort of thing won’t be permitted when you’re married.” Her mother said.

“I am aware of that, mother.” Caruviel said, staying strong as she sat and Illuvian’s mother resumed her seat.

“You missed the main courses, so we took the liberty of deciding for you.”

“Thank you, mother, I trust your judgement.” Caruviel said, trying to hold the contempt out of her voice; and probably utterly failing. As if they might not have decided her opinion on the food didn’t matter.

Caruviel was almost certain that her mother frowned slightly as she heard those words.

“Final course, the dessert!” the cook entered, bringing two final plates with him. He noticed Caruviel sitting there. “Ah, the bride returns. I was worried you had gotten cold feet.”

“I just had to step away for a bit.” Caruviel said.

“Well it is good to see you back.” The cook placed the plates on the table. “For the final course, lemon sorbet, or cinnamon brownie with sweet cream.”

Caruviel waited for the other women to eat, and picked up a spoon to sample the sorbet.

“Uh uh.” Her mother swatted her hand painfully, causing her to drop the spoon on the tablecloth. Caruviel turned to face her. “Wrong spoon, daughter.” A bolt of anger shot through Caruviel, but she managed to contain herself.

“Sorry, could you show me which I am supposed to use, mother?” she leaned back, exposing her set of cutleries.

Caruviel inwardly grinned as she saw her mother openly scowl as she surveyed Caruviel’s cutlery. Especially given that the only missing spoon was clearly the right one.

“Ah, a simple mistake.” Her mother said quietly, and gestured to the spoon Caruviel had been going to use on the sorbet.

“Perhaps I need to give you a refresher course?” Caruviel said, her tone polite but her meaning anything but. Seconds passed as her mother glared at her.

“This brownie is especially good, you really ought to try it.” Illuvian’s mother said, successfully breaking the tension between Caruviel and her mother.

Caruviel picked up the spoon from the tablecloth and took a scoop of the sorbet. Perhaps this would be palatable.

Unfortunately, it was just cold. The flavour may as well be summed up by someone shouting the word ‘lemon’ from another room. The little crystals of ice were rather pleasant and Caruviel enjoyed how they melted against her tongue.

She tried the brownie, and that at least had some flavour. The low amount of cocoa in the baked good was disappointing, and the ‘sweet cream’ just had a strange milky taste.

She sat back, deciding not to bother with giving advice that would be ignored. Eventually the other two decided on the brownie, and listed up which dish of each course they would order for the wedding banquet. Caruviel took it in stride.

Three days from now she would be gone, her one hundredth birthday party the last of anyone here in the woods ever saw of her.

She shuffled out of the booth after her mother, who knocked on the kitchen door. The chef opened it.

“Thank you for your catering.” Her mother said. “We’ve decided on a meal plan.”

“Oh, excellent!” The cook grabbed his notes. He nodded for her to go ahead.

“We’ll have the stew, the mushrooms, the fish, the venison, and the brownie.” She said.

“Excellent choice.” He said, crossing off the unneeded recipes. “I’ll have that ready for you on the wedding day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to make some orders.” He closed the door behind him.

“Well then, that’s that.” Illuvian’s mother said, turning to Caruviel and her own. “I shall be seeing you tomorrow for the fitting, I think?”

“Quite so.” The other mother said. She turned towards the door and gestured for Caruviel to follow.

Caruviel did, hoping that home awaited them, she needed to get a bag ready. She followed her mother out and onto the path through the village. Her mother leading the way through to home.

As soon as the door shut behind them, her mother rounded on Caruviel.

“I am only going to say this once.”

Caruviel clenched her jaw, trying not to quiver as her mother looked down at her.

“You will not be pulling another stunt like that on your wedding day.” She said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, that you keep running off, but it stops right now.”

“Yes ma’am.” Caruviel said, hoping her voice didn’t show her fear.

“Good.” Her mother said. “Because we’ve worked long and hard to make sure this wedding goes ahead, and if you muck it up in the eleventh hour, so help me I’ll…” She clenched her mouth shut, not finishing the threat.

“Understood?” her mother asked. And when Caruviel nodded, she said “Then to your room, and stay there, remember, you’re still grounded.”

Caruviel climbed the stairs two at a time, only too pleased to comply with a punishment that meant she didn’t need to leave the house.

Mostly pleased. She would need to be careful to not let on what she and Narixina had planned. If her parents found out about the plan, they’d definitely do something to stop it.

She closed the door behind her and let out a breath.

There was the other, small, thing. If she was to be prisoner in her room, she’d be unable to see Stinger again.


	4. Day 4

Sleep had come remarkably easy to Caruviel that night. Surprising, given how late she had slept the previous day. It seemed like she had just put her head down on the pillow and she was out.

She was out, but at the same time, she was so very awake.

Caruviel came to consciousness floating in a void the colour of a sunset sky. Orange and peach fog twisted around her in large clouds. She was drifting somewhere. Nowhere in particular, just somewhere. There was no direction to it. Up was down and left and right and forward and back and every other direction was all others too.

Her back was arched and she wore no clothes, the mist tickled slightly as it whispered past her. She was content, the void felt good.

Dimly, Caruviel realised she could move her limbs as she drifted. She flexed her fingers, enjoying the stretch of skin and sinew that felt like it hadn’t moved in eons. She arched her feet and bent her legs at the knees, even such a simple motion satisfying. Rolling her neck, she opened her mouth and allowed her tongue to lol out. The motion caused her to let out a yawn.

A particularly dense patch of cloud passed around her, and it was as if it had gone straight into her head. It was pleasantly fuzzy.

It reduced her reaction to a look of mild surprise when she saw Her.

She was gigantic. At least as tall a house. Elfin beyond an elf, her soft yellow eyes shone on Caruviel. She was bald, and her skin was webbed by green veins, contrasting with the mottled olive skin around them. Vines snaked their way around her, inside her, through her; they passed in and out of her flesh as if she was soil and they were roots. Leaves and petals lay against her skin, growing from the skin, along her arms and legs and up her belly.

Poking from between these leaves: thorns. Sharp things like she saw on rosebushes. Her hands were clawed, and her teeth sharp and numerous. Everywhere someone might describe as beautiful was shot through with some monstrous feature. She wasn’t a maiden to be rescued, nor a trickster to be outplayed, not a witch to be slain, she was all of them and more.

Caruviel’s eyes widened, trying to take in the vision before her. Drinking in this image of the most incredible woman she- no, anyone had ever seen.

Something in her eyes, claws, teeth… they reminded her of someone… no, whoever that was reminded Caruviel of Her. For she was the reference point for all of her dreams.

Then she spoke, and Caruviel listened, enraptured, to the voice that she had heard snippets of the past few days. The voice she had first heard in that strange part of the forest with Stinger.

“Little thing.” She smiled. It was true. Caruviel was small compared to Her. Not just in scale but in sheer majesty. Gazing upon her, Caruviel felt herself heat up from face to nethers. The giant smiled wider. “Oh, yes, you are perfect; aren’t you, my precious flower?”

Caruviel’s eyes rolled back at the words. Her breathing heavy and thighs grinding against one another.

“You want me so badly, don’t you my darling?” She said. Caruviel nodded vigorously.

The giant woman’s smile only widened. Her teeth looked very sharp. They parted slowly, allowing a tongue to wind its way out of the mouth. It was long, very long; and bumpy, little tendrils poked up from the flat of it. Caruviel moaned at the sight, even knowing that even the tip of the tongue was bigger than anything that could ever fit inside her.

“Well, you’ll have to do something for me first.” She said, retracting her tongue. “Do you think you can do me a small favour?”

Caruviel nodded again.

“Use your words, please.” She said. “I need to hear it from your own mouth.”

“Yes Mistress.” Caruviel said. Mistress. That was who the giant woman was.

“Very good.” Mistress said, her eyes glowing brighter.

Mistress moved slowly, extending a hand out to the diminutive elf. A vine unravelled from the back of her hand. Clasped in the end of the tendril was a small pouch, barely the size of Caruviel’s fist.

The package reached her and she extended her hands to catch it. The tendril released and allowed the pouch to fall into her waiting hands. The material was hessian-like, scratchy and loosely woven, with a cord of vine holding it closed. A strange smell was coming off it. The tendril retracted back into Mistress’ hand.

“What am I to do with this, Mistress?” Caruviel asked, looking up at her.

“Take it with you, hide it somewhere secret.” She said “You’ll know where.”

“Yes Mistress.” Caruviel said, blinking and finding her eyes just slightly harder to open again. She looked up, puzzled. “Mistress?”

“You’re leaving for now, my darling.” Mistress said. Caruviel’s face fell, she wanted to stay in the fog with this giant woman. Mistress extended her hand again, this time tapping the bottom of Caruviel’s chin, making her raise her head. “There, there; do this for me and you will have my gratitude.”

Caruviel nodded, still staring up at the woman.

“Now, close your eyes, please.” Mistress said. Caruviel did as asked. The void disappeared around her, and she awoke clutching the pouch.

Caruviel smiled into her pillow, and held it close to her heart in the pre-dawn.

Caruviel woke again. A little later than normal, but nowhere near as late as the previous day.

The first thing she noticed was the pouch, held safely to her chest. She smiled. Mistress wasn’t a dream. Sniffing it, Caruviel smelled it more closely. It was odd, the fragrance was some sort of flowery thing, but underneath that there was something off, like spoiled milk. She put the odd combination from her mind and set it on the bed.

She had her task, a favour to do. Hiding the pouch. It should be easy enough while being fitted for the wedding dress she should never have to wear. Caruviel busied herself with getting ready to leave for the seamstress’ workshop. A new dress for the day was donned, her face rinsed in the small basin on her dresser, and she was ready to leave.

Well, almost. She took the pouch and secured it inside her dress from a loose thread, lest someone see her carrying it and ask questions.

Caruviel walked down the stairs, to be greeted by her mother, yet again.

“You’re late again.” Her mother said. “I was just about to come get you.” Likely a lie.

“Good morning to you too.” Caruviel said. “Are you ready to go to my fitting?”

“Of course, we need to be going right away.” She said hurriedly, and walked past Caruviel out the door.

Caruviel smirked to herself. Her mother was rattled. Perhaps she was taken aback at how cooperative she was being?

Caruviel followed her mother out and down the path through the village yet again. The path to the seamstress was shorter than the way to the cook, so when they arrived, they were the first ones there.

Caruviel leant against the outside of the workshop as they waited for Illuvian’s mother and the various cousins that were to be part of her bridal party to arrive.

Her mind flashed back to the Mistress in her dream, and she bit her lip. Caruviel had been so… small compared to her. She had been so small and insignificant. Mistress was so gigantic, so powerful, and Caruviel frowned sadly as she thought it, but Mistress was also so kind. Why? Why would Mistress call her Darling? Why would anyone call her something like that? She wasn’t worthy of that sort of thing, was she?

There was something magical about that strange place Caruviel had visited in her dream, that much she could be certain. It had felt so free, just floating through that endless void. Not lonely, either; until Mistress arrived and she never wanted to be apart from her again. The fog flowing through her hadn’t done much for her self-awareness, but she knew now that while she had been there, she would have done anything that Mistress asked of her, without any hesitation.

She would have loved it then, and she would have loved it now. The thought that she would have gazed into the giant woman’s eyes as she showed off her body for their combined pleasures, that she would gladly debase herself for Mistress. The thought she would do truly anything clouded her mind with hot arousal.

That was surely the sort of thing Mistress wanted, right? For her to show her devotion. To stroke herself laying in her large hand. To show her the heights of pleasure she could achieve with her fellow devotee, Stinger.

Caruviel’s eyes widened, making the connection finally. Stinger’s Mistress was the one in her dream. Oh wow. Seeing Stinger again, while seeing Mistress would be a fantastic thing. Even without Stinger it would be truly magnifique, but with her they could have such fun as Mistress watched on.

Stinger would hold her legs spread, revealing her so completely to Mistress as she squirmed atop the giant chest. Her arms held above her head by thick, vine-like cord clasped in one of Stinger’s hands, while the other scratched at her abdomen. Mistress would coo at the marks and lean in, flexing her neck in a way that would be impossible for any normal elfinoid, and lick her from her toes to her hands. Stinger would stroke her from below and whisper words of encouragement in her ear.

“You’re so good for Mistress.”

“You want to serve her forever, don’t you?”

“You want to be just like-“

“Caruviel!” Her mother’s shout interrupted Caruviel’s dream-like state. She shook her head. She looked around, the bridal party had arrived, including Illuvian’s mother. Yet she had just been leaning against the stone staring into the grass at her feet. “Pay attention, girl!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Caruviel said, turning and entering the seamstress’ shop.

The seamstress smiled as the party entered. Caruviel thought she seemed slightly familiar.

“Hello dears.” She said warmly. “It’s your final fitting today, isn’t it, Caruviel?” She asked, ducking out from behind the counter and opening a doorway into the fitting room. The bridal party followed.

Caruviel’s eyes flicked left and right, down and up. Her true goal today was hiding the pouch. That was what really mattered. As soon as she saw the right place to hide it, the sooner she could accomplish her task.

“Yes, it shall be the last time.” Caruviel said, trying not to let the double meaning slip out. This would indeed be the last time she would have to wear the horrid wedding dress.

There was a couch along one wall, upon which the bridal party took their seats. Caruviel was stewarded past a step-stool for posing, and behind a long folding screen at the far end of the room. Her mother attempted to follow, only to be rebuffed by the seamstress.

“Do I have to tell you again?” She said, chuckling. “Only me and the blushing young bride behind the screen.” Caruviel suppressed the instinct to roll her eyes. No matter how many times she was told, her mother couldn’t help but trying to intrude. Looking particularly disgruntled, Caruviel’s mother exited the fitting area to presumably sit down in the middle of the couch.

The sound of the seamstress’ voice sent her back a few nights, to Intë’s wedding reception. The seamstress was Intë’s new mother-in-law. The same mother-in-law who Intë had gossiped with about Caruviel ‘refusing’ to dance with her fiancé.

Caruviel’s breathing sped up again, not in expectation of pleasure as she had with the daydreams of   
Stinger, but in fear. She must remember, she must still think her some ungrateful wench, some floozy of the Prince who would never appreciate him like he surely deserved. Her eyes flicked back and forth.

“Dear, calm down.” The seamstress said, clutching her arms in something of an effort to comfort her. It wasn’t as good as Narixina’s hand, but it was actually soothing. “Now let’s get you dressed in dress number one.”

Caruviel managed to calm herself down. She let her dress fall to the floor. Which also discretely set the pouch suspended in her dress down, and caused the dress to fall over it and cover everything. She swept it aside with a swipe of her foot as the seamstress brought over the first dress.

The previous time her mother had managed to whittle it down to a choice between three dresses. Caruviel thought they were all ridiculous, but what did the bride’s opinion matter when it came to finding a wedding dress?

The first one was all poufy sleeves, with artful slits in them that were supposed to open to a periwinkle blue, but her mother had insisted that the seamstress change it to virginal white. The seamstress had protested that would just make the sleeves look messy, but it ALL had to be white. Everyone had to know, in Illuvian’s words only, that no man had ‘sullied her honour’.

Once more, Caruviel barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes, but she relented as the fabric monstrosity was dropped around her. The skirt had a hoop layer now, which might have been in fashion a thousand years ago. Not that Caruviel would have cared much if it had been the height of popularity at that moment.

“There you go.” Said the seamstress. She ruffled through the folds of the dress, checking how it fell. She tutted to herself. “Intë’s got some work to go yet before she’s up to my level. Just wait here while I fix a little thing up.”

The seamstress walked past the screen before Caruviel could ask what she meant by Intë learning about seam craft, but before she knew it the woman was back with a hurried explanation to the bridal party.

“She’s just done a little bit of stitching wrong, shouldn’t take too long to correct.” The seamstress said, crouching down and pulling a thread-ripper from a pouch on her belt. She cut some stitches around Caruviel’s waist and plucked them out, before threading a needle and beginning to correct them.

“What did you mean, Intë’s got work to go before she’s as good as you?” Caruviel asked.

“She’s my apprentice, of course.” The seamstress said. “Need someone to take over the family business, and it can’t very well be my son.”

“Why ever not?” Caruviel asked.

“Men have no eye for detail.” She said, and Caruviel was reminded of the times her father had said the exact same thing about women when she had asked why he had taken one of her male cousins to apprentice in woodcarving. “But I should be fair to young Intë, she’s only had a few lessons.”

“Where is she now?” Caruviel asked.

“Oh, she’s tired after her wedding night.” The seamstress said. “Recovering from the excitement, you know.”

Caruviel froze. What? Intë was tired from her wedding nearly a day later? There was no way that could be correct; unless…

Bile rose in Caruviel’s throat. She forced it down. If she ruined one of these gowns her mother may actually murder her. But Intë, poor Intë.

Caruviel tried to force her imagination down, trying not to think of the horrible things that had been inflicted on her. She had never exactly been friends with her, but she hoped Intë would be okay.

She was brought back to herself when the needle pricked her side, causing her to let out a squeak of shock.

“Stay still, girly.” The seamstress said good-naturedly, as if she hadn’t just implied that her son had grievously injured his new wife.

Caruviel felt a rush of loathing for the seamstress. How could she be so callous? So uncaring? She gritted her teeth and stood as still as possible. This seamstress deserved a horrible fate, her son even more so.

She allowed the seamstress to finish on the dress. She pulled the stitch tight, snipped the end, and looked over the rest of the dress.

“Everything in order.” She said, “Now, you go and give your folks a looksie.”

Caruviel rounded the screen to a chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ from the bridal party and Illuvian’s mother. Her own mother was quiet, and shot a look at the rest of the party. She stood and approached as Caruviel stood up on the stool.

Caruviel’s mother tutted as she walked around Caruviel. Stopping every now and then to inspect something or another. She seemed very perturbed by the sleeves.

“These sleeves are all white, they muddle with the shape of the dress.” Her mother said, quite ernestly. Caruviel closed her eyes, trying to deny the second-hand embarrassment for her mother out of existence.

“Very well, ma’am.” Said the seamstress, who motioned for Caruviel to move behind the screen again. She did so and doffed the dress with the seamstress’ help.

Part of her wanted to say something to comfort the seamstress, about how her mother was always like that, but she decided not to. Caruviel may not have particularly liked Intë, but no one deserved that; and this woman had allowed that, however indirectly, to happen. How she wished the bile rising in her throat was venom. Venom that she could spit at the seamstress as punishment for her wilfully going along with this horrid occurrence.

How she could stand making wedding dresses when her own son did something so horrible to his own wife. How could she go along with this? How could she stomach fitting Caruviel’s gown when she knew what must have happened?

Caruviel gritted her teeth, forcing down that line of questioning before it progressed further than she could stand.

She needed to stay resolute, if only to accomplish the favour for her Mistress. Just to see her smile down at her.

The next dress was more tailored. A long, unyielding skirt held her legs together down to her ankles. Her arms were completely covered. There was a large fur muff and cylindrical fur hat that went with it. The muff was heavy and needed both of her hands to even carry it.

She hated it. She could barely walk in this thing, and running was right out. The seamstress insisted the muff was necessary, claiming they were ‘most fashionable’ in the southern borders of the forest. Caruviel couldn’t say why, it was absurdly warm. The hat balanced poorly, and twice she felt it might fall off as she began to creep her way out behind the screen.

As Caruviel minced her way towards the footstool, the bridal party had a mix of reactions. Laughter being the main one.

She really did roll her eyes this time.

“Hmm.” Her mother considered it. “This is good.” She said, drawing out the ‘oo’ sound in good. She turned her attention back to the seamstress. “But I think my daughter should have the perfect gown on such a special day.”

Keeping her eyes averted from her mother and the crowd, Caruviel made her way back behind the screen to change into the final dress on her mother’s short-list.

Caruviel dropped the muff on the ground, it hit with a deep ‘flump’ sound. The seamstress assisted her in removing the constricting dress. Several times the seamstress hissed at her to stay still when she was in danger of ripping the uncomfortable fabric. Eventually they managed to peel it off her and Caruviel flung it over a rack.

“Now, where is that last one?” The seamstress asked no one in particular. She gave the racks surrounding the changing area a once-over before Caruviel spoke.

“Perhaps you left it up in your workshop?” She suggested.

“Oh, of course; that must be it.” The seamstress said, nodding her head in comprehension. “Just sit tight until I get back.”

The seamstress left the changing area and hastily explained the situation to her Caruviel’s mother, how she had been doing some last-minute touch-ups the previous night and had just left it in her workshop.

But Caruviel had already begun putting her plan into action. Hiding naked behind the screen, she crouched down and shuffled through the pile of cloth that was the far simpler gown she had worn here. She pulled out the scented pouch, and began to go about doing that favour.

She grabbed the tight dress from on top of the rack and pulled it off; revealing the third dress she was supposed to try on that morning. She hung the tight dress back on the rack. The muff was her target.

She flattened and folded it and placed it underneath the matching dress. The muff was so thick that no one would notice the small bulge in between its folds.

Caruviel smiled as she heard the seamstress re-enter the room.

“Just a minute, dears, and we’ll have the bride all wrapped up.” The seamstress said, and she turned around the screen holding a dress. She turned to Caruviel and whispered. “I couldn’t…”

“Couldn’t find the dress?” Caruviel finished. The seamstress nodded. Caruviel pulled the third dress out from the rack and savoured the expression on the seamstress’ face. “Is this it?”

“Oh, thank goodness you found it.” The seamstress whispered, obviously too relieved to think on why she hadn’t seen it before. She quickly set to work on helping Caruviel dress in it.

It was relatively simple as far as all the wedding dresses Caruviel had seen went. Just simple flaxen cloth overlaid with handwoven lace down to a long train. The torso portion of the dress was sleeveless, but the lace overlay continued down her arms to her wrists.

Would it be terrible to say this dress actually had merit? Even if she would never wear it again, it was a right side better than the other two. Maybe it just looked better in comparison?

She strode out from behind the screen to nods and squeals of delight. She stepped up on the stool and allowed her mother to look her over.

Her mother looked her over for far longer than the previous two times. Pursing her lips as she circled, she tutted every now and then. She took the skirt with one hand and swished it back and forth. She nodded in response before moving her vision up to Caruviel’s arm.

“This at least covers those horrible scars.” She said, taking Caruviel’s arm in her hand and twisting it back and forth to survey it from multiple angles. Then she frowned. “Too much of the arms are exposed, as I said last time, but the lace covers most of the unpleasantness nicely.”

“Made just to your specifications.” The seamstress said, bowing. Caruviel’s mother just looked at her, and held the look until the seamstress spoke again. “Of course, ma’am, I’ll leave you to it.”

She continued to circle Caruviel, face gently, if slowly, settling into a neutral expression. Caruviel watched the Seamstress’ eyes flick back and forth between her and her mother, until her mother spoke suddenly.

“Very well, hang it up. We’ll be here the morning of the wedding for it and the bridal party’s gowns.” She said, as if any syllable of appreciation was a tall order.

“Of course, Ma’am.” The seamstress said, and ushered Caruviel back behind the screen.

Caruviel couldn’t help suppress a smirk as she left her mother’s field of vision. There’d be no need for the dress.

She shirked the dress and helped the seamstress to hang it back up on the rack. She took her time, relishing each second her mother and the bridal party waited as she donned her simple day gown. She might be related to her cousins, but there was certainly no kinship there. She could hear them now, excitedly discussing the forthcoming ‘celebration’. Caruviel gritted her teeth, before forcing on a blank face and stepping forth from behind the screen.

Her mother led the way out of the seamstress’ workshop, where the bridal party split off, heading to their various homes. She gestured for Caruviel to follow home. She was still grounded like a child might be.

Caruviel followed through the village and took to the stairs up to her bedroom as soon as she entered the house.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but rest assured it won’t work, girl.” Her mother said after her. Caruviel ignored her and entered her room, shutting the door behind her.

Just two sleeps until she and Narixina ran off together. Beyond the village, beyond the forest, maybe even beyond other elves. Caruviel grabbed a backpack from her closet. It was rarely used and kind of small, but it would do for their escape.

She grabbed some clothes, folded them, and placed them in the bag. What else would she need? Certainly not fancy clothes. A spare pair of shoes wouldn’t go amiss. Caruviel grabbed a pair and put them in the bag, next to the clothes.

A waterskin also joined the shoes, as well as some of her saved coins in a little purse. She closed the bag. Was there anything else she might need? Her mind flashed to the cutlery of the day previous. Would she need some sort of weapon? It could be dangerous outside the forest. She briefly entertained the notion of taking a knife from her father’s workshop, but dismissed it. He would surely notice it’s absence.

Caruviel searched her mind for anything else she thought she might need, and as she came up blank time and time again, she smiled wider. She was packed and ready for anything.

She had a brainwave. If her mother did suspect something, perhaps it would be prudent to hide her escape bag? Just in case her parents came and looked in her room.

She glanced around, searching for some place that might serve as a hiding spot. Her eyes came to rest on a chest of draws, upon which sat her childhood doll, Siriel. There was a hollow in the bottom, underneath the lowest draw. She grinned; it was perfect.

She stowed the bag there, pulling out the bottom draw of wood-woven branches to let her place it easily. With the draw replaced nothing looked out of the ordinary. No one could guess there was a bag there now. Nothing could stop her and Narixina from escaping from this place.


	5. Day 5

Caruviel slept soundly through the night. Her mood buoyed by the women who vied for her dreams.

Narixina was beautiful, and Caruviel dreamt of drawing her into the bed in which she slept, wrapping the covers around them, and staying in an embrace for hours on end. Kissing, touching, talking, just making up for lost time. For nearly a hundred years since Caruviel first laid eyes on her, she could hardly believe that the first time she had spoken to her was mere days ago. They could have left long ago, but of course, fate seemed to have conspired to keep them apart. Or at the very least, left Caruviel too enraptured and shy in her presence as to be rendered speechless.

She did not feel like that when she had seen the other in her dreams. Whoever the Mistress was, Caruviel had been so comfortable with her. It was like Mistress already understood everything about her, and that she didn’t need to talk. Of course, she hadn’t at all wanted to in the dream the previous night, and Mistress had had a task for her. It was important that she explained what she wanted Caruviel to do.

The thoughts Caruviel had of Mistress were almost overwhelming. One second she was in Narixina’s embrace, then the next she was rutting up against the giant woman’s finger, rubbing her cheek against the fingertip. She imagined a vine wrapped around her, in part an embrace, in part a reciprocation, as she rubbed her centre up against a nodule in the plant tethering her to Mistress’ hand.

She drifted up into consciousness as she climaxed. Panting into the dark, thighs slick, she drifted back again into slumber. Only for her dreams of Narixina to be replaced again with those of the fey.

She awoke in the morn dehydrated upon drenched sheets. That wouldn’t do, Caruviel stood up and went to her dresser, to the ewer of wine there. She poured herself a cup of wine from the ewer, then poured the cup on her sheets over the stain. The wetness might have faded in time, but the smell would have remained. With the wine stains she had an excuse to wash.

Caruviel stripped the sheets from the bed, taking care not to spread the stain too much. She bundled them up and, after changing into a new dress, she brought them downstairs, to where her parents were breaking their fasts.

“I spilled some wine on my sheets, is there anything more to clean while I go to the river?” She asked the room.

“No, but you’re still grounded, I will go with you.” Her father said.

“Of course, father.” She said, and he followed her out the door, and along the path to the cleaning river. She carried the bundled sheets with her, trying not to be suspicious, lest her father realise the wine stain was hardly an innocent accident.

They reached the river quickly, and Caruviel grabbed one of the scrubbing racks from the shed beside the flowing water. She let the sheet fall in the water, keeping a hold on it, while she set up the rack. She lay it against the bank and knelt down into a proper position to scrub. Gathering up the sheet, now thoroughly soaked, she began to scrape the stains against the rack.

“I trust you won’t embarrass us on the morrow at your birthday party.” Her father said from behind her, she glanced back and saw he had taken a seat on a log stump.

“No, father.”

“Good.” He said. “You know how hard I’ve worked to set up this marriage, and I won’t have you ruin it with your wilful nature.”

She remembered alright, and it turned her stomach. He had scraped together every coin his family had for a dowry. Every coin that had not gone towards thoroughly unrelated ‘gifts’ to Illuvian and his parents. How eager he had always been to sell her.

She remembered one such ‘gift’. In her thirties Illuvian and his parents had been invited over for a luncheon. She had forgotten the details of the meal, only that it had been popular at the time and entirely unsatisfying. Illuvian had finished quickly and dragged her off at the bequest of their parents.

He sat in a chair in her father’s study, and bade her sit on the floor. She still despised that she had done so. He pulled something from his pocket and unrolled it. It was like a sheet of pale leather, coiled tightly to make it smaller. She had expected him to say something, but Illuvian just stared at the sheet.

She waited, and waited. Then, losing patience, she stood up.

“Sit down.” He said.

She said nothing and walked from the room. He followed, the sheet flapping behind him.

“Go back and sit down.” He said again, scrunching up his face.

“Why?” she asked, annoyed.

“I’m showing you something.”

“You already did, and it’s a boring sheet.” She said. “Now I’m going; you can stare at it all you want.”

“I’m not staring!” he said angrily. “I’m reading!”

“I don’t care.” She said, running off again.

This time, it was her father who caught her. He stared down at her, stony faced, and griping her arm.

“Shut up.” He hissed at her. “We could hear your yelling from down in the dining hall.”

“I wasn’t!” she protested. But he just dragged her back to his study, where Illuvian had returned.

“Excuse me, young Prince, for my daughter’s rudeness.” He said, moving Caruviel in front of him with a firm hand. His grip tightening slowly, then quickly. “My daughter wants to apologize.”

“For what?!” Caruviel asked incredulously. “I didn’t do anything, Illuvian was just sitting there staring at that sheet.”

“I was reading!” he said smugly.

“Such a talented young man!” Her father said, his grip tightening again. “You’ll make a great king one day, my Prince.”

“Thank you.” Illuvian said, smirking at Caruviel. “Now, you were going to apologize?”

“Ugh.” She said, only for her father’s hand to pulse with tightening his grip again. It was really beginning to hurt now. She relented. “I’m sorry, Illuvian.”

Her father’s grip slackened.

“How about we all head back down to the dining room.” He said, clapping his hands together. “Now that my daughter’s unpleasantness has been remedied, I have something to present to you, my Prince.”

He shepherded them back into the dining room, where the plates had been cleaned away. The King was sitting quietly while the mothers chatted. Caruviel and Illuvian took their places, and her father ducked out again, to grab whatever present he had for the Prince.

Her father returned with a thick square of more of that pale leather, bound in thick, dark leather. As he approached the table, she realised that the inner square was not actually thick, but that there were many squares of the pale sheet making it up, stacked on top of one another.

“A complete history of the outer-lands.” He announced proudly. “I think it’s only prudent for a king to learn about the history of the barbarian nations that surround our noble forest, lest they aim too high above themselves and seek to encroach on this realm.”

“A most thoughtful gift, sir.” Illuvian said monotonously. Caruviel’s father handed him the book, and he handed it to his mother.

Caruviel scowled as she cleaned the sheets, knelt at the water’s edge.

“Caruviel? Are you listening?” Her father asked.

“Yes, father.” She said, not listening. He resumed his inane words. She hadn’t even learned what reading was until after that, much less how to do it herself. Her father had said it would have been a waste to teach her.

She sat back, taking a break from washing the sheet, and re-adjusted it in her hands. She was just about to get back to scrubbing when something caught her eye in the trees across the river.

It was Stinger.

Memories of their encounter rushed back, and Caruviel felt her face heating up. Then she took in what Stinger was doing.

Caruviel glanced back at her father, who seemed to not have noticed the two strange women joined in pleasure just inside the forest on the other side of the river.

Stinger was the same as she had been during their own rendezvous. Bound in tight brown leaf-leather just darker than her skin, legs and arms abnormally long. Her wide eyes were half-lidded, and her mouth open in a moan which revealed her sharp teeth. One hand gripped her throat around the leather collar.

The only thing different was that she wasn’t wearing her leather pants. Presumably this was to give better access to her nethers for the woman below her. Stinger thrust up against her mouth, using her other hand to push the head into her.

The woman was like no one Caruviel had ever seen. Her ears were strange, almost rounded, but still pointy. Far from Caruviel and far from Stinger’s ears. Her skin seemed different too, like it had imperfections in it, little divots and pores larger than normal.

She too wore the tight leaf leather. It was a much starker comparison between it and her beige skin than it and Stinger. She wore a collar of leather, a little lighter than Stinger’s. The strangest thing about her was her hair. While Stinger’s was long, flowing, and frizzy, with tendrils of vine flowing within, this other woman had no hair at all.

The woman gripped Stinger’s bare buttocks with strength that seemed to belay her thin arms.. Pulling the elf closer to her face, as if she wanted to enter Stinger with more than her tongue, which seemed to be thrashing violently inside the elf.

Stinger’s head rolled around her neck to face Caruviel. Her yellow eyes staring into her. She felt no jealously, strangely. Only an overwhelming need to leap into the river and swim over to their bank, strip herself of the confining dress she wore, and join them in their pleasuring of each other. Surely Stinger would not object to another in their lovemaking?

What was it that made her lust for these women, strange as they were?

Stinger looked away, throwing her head backwards as she began to reach a climax. She screamed silently. But Caruviel made out a single word as she read the elf woman’s lips.

“Mistress.” Caruviel said out loud.

“Oi!” her father said, breaking the silence, and Caruviel’s focus on the rutting elf. She turned around. “What are you doing?!”

Caruviel turned back to look at the sheet, only to find it nowhere. In her focus on the pair she must have let it go.

“It’s down there you damned fool!” Her father pointed down the river. The sheet had drifted off and got caught in a river thistle bush.

Caruviel’s eyes flashed back to where Stinger had been. But she and her companion were gone. Caruviel tilted her head in confusion. Where did they go? Her heart, amongst other things, ached to go over to where they had been. She could follow Stinger again, just like she had the first time they met. But her daydreaming was cut short.

“Are you stupid as well as spirited?” Her father yelled. “Go get your sheet, useless girl!”

Caruviel wrenched her eyes away from the trees and jogged downstream to where the sheet had gotten caught. She stepped down into the water and began trying to disentangle it from the brittle plant.

She eventually managed it with only minimal damage, and returned to where her father was sitting.

“Foolish girl, do I have to do everything for you?” He snarled and took the sheet from her. He sat down next to the cleaning rack, gathered the sheet up into a tight ball, and began scrubbing it back and forth.

“Um.” She tried to interrupt him. Only to be silenced with a look.

He spent maybe a minute in that position before it became just too uncomfortable for him. He shifted and tried again. Several tries later, the sheet was no cleaner. Caruviel tried her best to hold back a laugh.

He let out a growl and threw the sheet on the ground.

“You’ll sleep without tonight and tomorrow.” He said angrily. “It’s not my problem after that.”

This helped her hold back the laugh. In fact, it rather chilled her sense of humour.

“Yes, father.” She said, swallowing nervously.

“Pick that up,” He said, pointing to the soiled sheet. “Your mother will clean it later.”

Caruviel knelt down and retrieved it.

“Now, we’re going home, and you are to stay in your room until tomorrow for your party.” Her father said, as he began to walk.

“Yes, father.”

“And stop saying that.”

“Yes-“ She stopped herself.

She began to walk along the path back into town.

Who was that other woman with Stinger? She looked strange, stranger than Stinger. But at the same time, they looked similar. Like two of the same baked good made from different doughs. Where Stinger was an elf taken to the extreme, the other woman looked less so.

Was she a human? Was that what they looked like? The faceless mortal men in the stories, who wedded heroes like Siriel, were always described as being of rounded ear. But that woman had not been, not entirely.

If she was a human, then it was surely not all mortals who were horrid, just the faceless mortal men who sought to bind a warrior as a doting wife.

The woman’s jaw had been working so roughly, inelegantly even. For some reason, this made it somehow more appealing to Caruviel, that she would thrust her face so desperately into Stinger’s nethers.

Caruviel nearly tripped over a rock as she absently followed her father on the main path through the village. She noticed, however, there were a lot more people around than usual for this time of morning. A crowd had gathered outside a building.

Her father seemed to take interest too, and he led them to the crowd.

As she approached, Caruviel began to make out voices.

“She had forsaken her vows to protect and serve her husband!” A loud voice said. The crowd cheered.

“Please, my boy wouldn’t have wanted this!” came another voice, this one quite familiar to Caruviel.

They reached the baying crowd, and Caruviel stood on her toes to peer over the heads in front of her. She clapped a hand to her mouth.

Hung by the neck, despite seemingly dead already from the many an arrow stuck through her, was Intë. Dry blood was caked around the exit wounds on the front of her dress, and her head was cut open, her hair matted together with more of the red flakes.

“He would certainly have preferred he were still alive!” The first voice said. Caruviel saw that it belonged to the head of the hunting party.

“And killing her changed nothing, besides that she is now dead!” shouted the second voice, the seamstress. “My sweet son would not have called for this!”

A bolt of anger shot through Caruviel. The seamstress knew perfectly well what sort of man her son was. It faded fast at the sight of Intë’s corpse.

What could have happened? Did the hunting party kill her? It certainly looked like it.

“Then perhaps you should join her!” the head of the hunt cried out.

“No!” She shrieked.

Caruviel tapped the arm of a girl in front of her.

“What happened?” She asked quietly.

“Intë’s husband was trampled by a horse.” She whispered. “When she tried to run afterwards the hunting party realised that she must have been behind it and gave chase.”

“Oh? Why do they think she was responsible?” Caruviel asked.

“Who else would it be?” She asked and turned back to the spectacle.

Caruviel wasn’t listening anymore. Her mind flashed back to a smell: spoiled milk beneath flowers. Something that could attract rats, she bet. Something that could easily spook a horse. Something that could easily spook a horse into stampeding around, over a man.

She was the one responsible. She had caused Intë’s death.

A small favour, that’s how Mistress had described it. Caruviel felt the contents of her stomach rise in her throat. A small favour. What was that pouch for if not to attract a rat? Mistress had known, somehow, she had known what would happen. She had made Caruviel responsible for Intë’s death.

“At the very least take her down from there.” The seamstress pleaded.

“She is there as a warning!” The hunter said. He turned toward the crowd. “Let those impudent wives who turn against their duties know that this is the fate that awaits them.”

“You would do well to listen and understand.” Her father said in her ear.

Caruviel was only half listening. She was sure her fingers had gone white clutching the sheet.

Mistress had made her a murderer. No, a murderer twice! Intë and her husband. How could she?

Hardly seeing at all, she followed her father home.

Why would Mistress do this? What had Intë ever done to her? What had Caruviel? Why did she deserve this punishment? Was it a punishment?

Perhaps she… no, she must have known that the hunting party would catch Intë and kill her. Or did she? How much did she know about their little village? Did she specifically intend for Intë’s husband to die? But why? Or had she just intended that a horse would be spooked? But why would she want that? There was always a real danger that someone could be trampled when a horse was spooked. Someone. Anyone really. Had she just wanted someone to die? Specifically, by Caruviel’s hand? But that just came back to Whys and why nots.

Was… was Mistress the monster? The evil witch, to be slain by the faceless mortal man? Was she simply evil? But she was so beautiful, Caruviel couldn’t understand. Oh, but not necessarily beautiful to a faceless mortal man. With her sharp teeth, and bright eyes, and vines that moved like so many extra arms.

Caruviel felt a chill pass over her, and not just because she just entered her home. She dropped the sheet on the floor, ignoring her father’s protests, and slowly went upstairs to her room.

Was Mistress really so malicious as to made Caruviel a murderer? Was she a murderer? She hadn’t meant anyone to die, she was just doing a small favour for the woman in her dream. The woman who spoke in her mind at right that moment.

“_Evil? Do you really think I can be described by such titles?_”

Arousal bloomed through her as Caruviel collapsed against the inside of her bedroom door. It was tinged with something.

“You made me leave that pouch in the seamstress’ workshop.” Caruviel said to the open air. There was no response. “You killed Intë.” This got a response.

“_Who killed Intë_?”

“You did.” Caruviel said, but immediately found herself doubting the words. No, Mistress had just asked her to do a small favour. “Me?”

She waited for an answer. But she already knew. She had no idea that her actions would cause Intë’s death.

“The hunters.” She said. There was silence for a long while before Mistress’ voice posed another question.

“_And her husband?_”

“Who cares about Intë’s husband?” She said flippantly. Then she realised what she had said. “You had me kill two people and now I don’t even care about one of them!”

Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. She had never cared about Intë’s husband. This wasn’t recent. With a horrified thought, she realised. Her only concern had been for Intë and herself. He wasn’t just unworthy of her regret, he deserved worse.

“I’m glad he’s dead.” She voiced the thought. Staring blankly at the floor in front of her. “But why did Intë have to die too?”

Silence still.

Why did Intë have to die? Why did she run in the first place? The hunt would surely have caught her before she even reached the forest’s edge.

The hunt.

Oh no.

Caruviel collapsed on her bed. The hunt would have caught Intë before she reached the forest’s edge. It would catch Caruviel before she reached the forest’s edge too. Intë’s fate was what all who forsook their husbands were bound for.

Even if she vanished before the wedding, she couldn’t get far. There was just no way.

Intë’s corpse swung in front of Caruviel’s mind’s eye.

She and Narixina would die if they tried to leave. They would be hunted down and pierced with arrows and strung up in front of the Prince’s house. A message to others who ran from their so-called ‘duties’ that they had never wanted.

She couldn’t run away with her. Running away with Narixina was no plan at all, not if they were to die before they even set foot outside the forest.

Then something clicked in Caruviel’s mind.

That was why she had to die.

Intë had to die, so Caruviel knew how not to. So that she wouldn’t run off with Narixina and be hunted down like the beasts to be served at her reception.

Mistress had set it all up.

Caruviel’s stomach churned.

“Why could you not have just told me?” She asked the room. But yet again there was no answer. “Wouldn’t that have been easier?”

Still silence.

“What do you want with me?” Caruviel asked, half convinced that Mistress was no longer listening. “Why did you send Stinger to find me that night? Why did you let me follow her?”

“_You know what I want_.”

Caruviel collapsed onto her bed. She was on fire. Heat deep in her stomach raged like never before.

“What are you...?” She mumbled out.

“_See. Understand_.”

And Caruviel was somewhere else.

A barrage of images flew through Caruviel’s mind. A giant hand reaching down to her, a rush of fire, and many more. Then finally, it settled on a single image.

It was a strange thing, seeing through another’s eyes.

Whoever she saw through was walking through some sort of village. The houses here were different than those in her own. They were all sharp angles and cut timber, rather than normal wood-woven structures.

She was cloaked and moving with purpose.

The rain seemed to not slow her at all.

She ducked into a side alley to avoid a group of men in armour. The ran past her hiding spot. She let out a breath.

As the soldiers departed, she did too, resuming her pace along the street.

She began to tire when she reached her destination. A stone building topped with a wooden second floor. She did not head to the front door, but around the side. A door leading down, under the building.

Caruviel’s host kneeled down and knocked on the door. A slit opened and a pair of eyes, surrounded by green skin peered out.

“What are you doing here?” A voice said from inside.

“Please, I’ve made my decision.” Caruviel heard from the mouth of the one she saw through. “And I bring a great gift.”

The slit shut, and the door itself opened.

She went down, and the door shut behind her.

The room below was small, seemingly just a storage room, if not for the table in the middle of the room.

It was surrounded by the strangest people that Caruviel had ever seen. Green/yellow skin, with deep sunken eyes, and brown spots. The pointed ears were the only comparison she could draw to an elf. Their flattened noses had just slits for nostrils, and strangest of all was the hair. Not on their heads, but on their faces. Tufts flowed out along their cheeks and lower lips.

An older looking one turned towards Caruviel’s host.

“So, you finally saw the light?” He said. “I suppose that husband of yours is good for something.”

“Yes, and I bring a gift.” She said, and withdrew something from inside her cloak. A key.

“Is that…?” one of them asked.

“Yes, the key to one of the palace’s secret gates.” She said. “With it, a small party has a direct line of attack to the king himself.”

“What’s to stop us taking it from you by force?”

“There’s no need, you can have it.” She threw the key on the floor.

“So, it’s a trap, then?” The oldest said. He nodded to a robed man, who waved his arms. Light expanded around him, filling the basement. “Is this part of some royal trap?”

“No, my loyalties to the royal family are severed.” She said. “I’m just here for my husband.”

The eldest looked to the sorcerer, who nodded in ascent.

“Very well.” He said. He picked up the key and turned to face the crowd. “Gather together our best fighters, we’re putting an end to their line tonight.”

The image seemed to skip faster through Caruviel’s mind. Men rushed around to prepare for the attack, and eventually left.

The footage slowed down, and Caruviel’s host found herself alone in the storage room. Her eyes directed to the largest barrel of drink. Climbing up, she undid the stopper atop the barrel. Wine sat still inside.

From inside her cloak again, she drew something. This time a sack. She loosened it and tipped its contents into the barrel. Powder poured in, mixing with the wine quickly.

“Dear?” A man’s voice said to her left. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t respond at first, just re-stoppered the barrel and put the empty sack back inside her cloak. Then she turned. Caruviel knew, somehow, that this man was her host’s husband.

“Nothing dear.” She said, hand going back into her cloak as she stepped down from the barrels.

“I heard what happened, thank you so much for doing the right thing by the resistance.” He said.

“It was no trouble.” She said, beginning to walk towards him.

“But really, what were you doing up on those barrels?” He asked.

“Nothing, really.” She said simply. Slipping into a hug with him, withdrawing her hand from her cloak to wrap around his back. Caruviel almost felt the hand behind his back draw itself into a striking position. “Just what Mistress commands of me.”

There was a moment of hesitation, and the host’s husband gave her a puzzled look, which quickly turned to shock as he felt the knife pierce through the back of his ribs.

Caruviel awoke with a start, just as the sun had ducked below the clouds.

“What was that? Oh no.” She breathed quickly. “What? What was that even supposed to be?! I don’t understand.”

Silence.

She tried thinking back to whatever that strange vision had been. Was it real? Where was it? Why were the houses there made out of dead wood? Were the people, those strange green people, unable to weave the trees to how they wanted them to grow? It was nowhere near anything like anywhere Caruviel had ever been. The people themselves were alien to her also. But since she had never left the forest, that wasn’t saying much.

The one whose eyes she saw through had. There had been some sort of a rebellion? An underground resistance against the royal family of the city. Why? What part did Caruviel’s host play in the conflict? Wait, she was previously loyal to the royal family. The one that the people under the building had gone to kill. But she turned against them. She had turned against the royals. Or had she?

That powder she had poured into the wine. It had to be poison of some sort. Was she tricking the resistance? But if she poisoned the wine, she must have expected someone to drink it. Someone would only drink the wine if the rebellion came back alive.

If she expected the resistance to come back and drink the wine, perhaps she was expecting a celebration, where lots of people would drink from the wine. A celebration of victory, perhaps? Victory over the royals, murdered in their beds. The resistance would have struck from a passageway whose key she had provided.

Caruviel connected that piece to another. The royalty dead, and the resistance dead. No one to take control of the city. No one would organise the guards, no one could organise the treasury, for that was the jobs of royals, wasn’t it? The power vacuum would cause chaos.

“All as Mistress commands.” Caruviel whispered. Her host had known Mistress. Maybe even… No, she couldn’t have been like Stinger, the differences would be too pronounced. She must have looked like whatever was ‘normal’ for those strange green people. Her husband certainly hadn’t noticed any difference.

She acted so strangely. Turning on both the royalty and the resistance. Did she really do it because Mistress had asked her to? Could she really have poisoned all those people?

Possibly the strangest thing in the vision was her husband. It almost seemed like she liked him, like she actually loved him, and he loved her. That made the least sense to her. Even If she did love him, why did she kill him? Why plunge that dagger into him while in an embrace filled with the love between them? Did Mistress command that too? Why hesitate if she was just going to kill him? Did she hesitate because of that love?

Did she just kill him to hush up the poison? No, he seemed convinced. By the time the poison had taken effect he would probably have drunk too. Did she kill him for some other reason? Was she breaking free of a horrid life with him? No, it didn’t seem like it. It did seem like she actually did love him.

Why did she do it?

Why?

Her thoughts spiralled from there into nonsensicalities. Lasting far into the night. Each thought chased its own tail as she drifted further and further into sleep.


	6. Day 6

Caruviel woke. This was it. Her 100th birthday.

Which meant that tomorrow was her wedding day.

No way out. If she ran away, she’d die of starvation or be hunted down. If she didn’t want to starve, she could go with Narixina and they’d both be killed.

If she stayed… it didn’t bear thinking about, lest she become too hasty.

There was nothing she could do. Death awaited her at every fork in the road.

She lazed in bed, letting despair wash over her like some perverse salve.

While lying there, she considered. This Mistress, she was clearly a rather ominous presence in Caruviel’s life of late. She killed seemingly without a hesitation, as Caruviel wouldn’t expect from someone so… beautiful as her. She half despised herself for saying it, but there was something about her that Caruviel felt something for. That if it were Mistress who did the things she did, it was somehow not as bad as if someone else had done it.

Caruviel’s face twisted in disgust. Of course, when she did things it wasn’t as bad as when others did so. Mistress had killed Intë’s husband, he had deserved far worse than to be crushed beneath a horse’s hooves. Intë hadn’t deserved death, she might have grown sour in her later years before marriage, but she didn’t deserve to die, especially not in a ditch embedded with arrows.

But what of the dream? What of the strange green skinned woman who had poisoned a resistance movement on the orders of that same Mistress? What of her husband, who she had apparently loved?

Caruviel shook her head. If she kept up these trails of thought while lying in bed then she’d fall back asleep. If she did that things would just end up worse for her.

She selected a fancier than normal dress, as her mother would expect for her birthday, and headed downstairs. Her mother was there waiting.

“Finally, we’ve been waiting for hours.” Her mother said. “I was just about to come wake you, it isn’t good for a young woman to stay in trance for too long.”

Trance? What was she talking about?

“What?” she asked, when she was cut off by her mother.

“Not now, we need to check in on the food for tomorrow and then we need to be at the party to make sure everything is being set up right.” She said.

“Yes mother.” Caruviel said, staring at her back as she led the way out. Caruviel walked along behind her, trying to keep her face neutral.

Her mind, however, was disturbed.

Just that little jolt was all she needed. Perhaps there was another way to escape her fate. Could she slip out of the party, giving her and Narixina an extra few hours head start? Unlikely, since she had vanished at Intë’s party her parents would be keeping a stricter eye on her at her own celebration.

Maybe she could steal horses for her and Narixina? No, she had no idea how to handle them, much less lead them from the stables across the village stealthily. If anyone saw her then it was all over for both of them. Besides, the hunting party had far swifter horses, they might still catch them.

She could kill the hunters’ horses, that might give them time to get away. But still, that would probably drive the hunters harder in search of vengeance.

What? She didn’t want to kill horses! They were lovely animals, they couldn’t defy their masters’ orders, no matter how wrong what they were forced to do was.

Her options were getting slimmer and slimmer. It was beginning to look like there was no way out. She wanted to refuse to believe that, for the alternative was death. The alternative was death and misery.

Her mother entered the cook’s workshop, and as the bell over the door rung, she whispered a vow to herself.

“Anything but this. I will not live married to him.”

With only a few shouts from her mother at the cook, they were on their way to the party grounds. They didn’t own an orchard like Intë’s parents, so they were hiring one of the king’s courtyards for the party. The three other courtyards around the house were empty.

Caruviel passed through the stone archway and looked upon the courtyard for the first time. It was horrid. All lawn grass and woven woods. The only consolation was that it looked out onto the forest.

“What are they doing?” Her mother hissed, and she stormed off to berate the waitstaff. They were still setting up, as was to be expected over two hours before the party was to start, and everything was coming together to her mother’s specifications.

Clearly the stress of planning a wedding with a thoroughly uncooperative bride had begun to get to her. As it should. Nonetheless, Caruviel looked away as her mother berated them. A few days ago, that had been her. Fighting back against whatever her mother had thrown at her and in return receiving her ire. Her mother must be truly frustrated if she was taking that anger out on a punching bag that had at least some power over her.

Caruviel retreated to a corner chair, if she had to be here this early then she should probably stay out of the way of people who knew what they were doing.

Sitting there, Caruviel watched as the crew went about their business. Moving a table here, bringing over some chairs to join it. People rolling untapped barrels across the yard to hoist up behind the drinks table. Her mother coming over with an angry look broke the monotony.

“You were supposed to be in hair ten minutes ago.” She scowled. Caruviel knew better than to protest. Her mother looked around. “Where did that groomer go?”

“Groomer?”

“Who was to style your hair, she was supposed to meet us at the gate.” Her mother huffed, looking around. Caruviel blinked, why her mother had wanted to hire a hair groomer was beyond her.

“I’m ever apologetic, ma’am.” A voice from behind Caruviel sounded. She swivelled in her chair; a rather attractive woman smiled down at her. “I was waylaid, you see.”

“Get to work, but don’t expect to receive your full commission.” Her mother said, waving both Caruviel and the groomer off before turning back to the waitstaff and noticing someone else who she thought was doing something wrong.

“Come with me, please.” The groomer said.

“Ok.” Caruviel squeaked as she was taken by the hand and led into a small tent in the corner of the yard.

There was a polished table mirror sitting on a desk in front of a chair, apart from that, the room was barren.

“Please, sit.” The groomer said, and Caruviel did. There was a flash of green somewhere in the corner of her eye, but as soon as she had sat, it was gone.

“I’m sorry about my mother.” Caruviel said.

“Oh, it’s quite worth it.” The groomer said. “I assure you.”

“She said she wasn’t going to pay you in full, though?”

“I’ll be combing you out to begin with.” The groomer said, pointedly ignoring Caruviel’s comment, and retrieved a comb from somewhere.

“Ok.” Caruviel said, as the comb began to pass across her head.

It was quite gentle, barely touching her scalp but somehow finding all the knots she had no idea she had just days ago. Where the teeth did touch her, they felt rounded and light, but still gave some pressure.

Part of her wished they were sharper. Like clawed fingertips sliding through her hair. A playful scratch from her companion as she pleasured her with her mouth. Tasting every inch of her slick nethers as she herself was pleased in turn by someone unseen. The woman underneath her bucked her hips upward, so she splayed her fingers across her stomach. The pressure only seemed to arouse her companion more, whose fingers became tangled in her hair as made the most of the subtle movements she could do between the hand and the surface.

The soft, springy, surface they were lying on was a mottled olive. It comforted her. Only slightly more than the tongue inside her that that moment.

“The daydreams are the most delectable part, aren’t they?” A voice said. Caruviel snapped out of the dream like she had been slapped.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She said stiffly.

“Oh, I know you do.” The groomer said, leaning down slightly. “I know that you enjoy seeing the pleasure my Mistress can bring.”

“I… please.” Caruviel was frozen.

“Don’t worry, you’re amongst friendly faces here.” The groomer said, pressing her cheek up against Caruviel’s so they were both shown in the mirror.

Caruviel’s eyes went wide. She recognised that face. Not that face itself, but she had seen several like it. The flat nose with slits for nostrils on a green face. But this was different than the others. Brown/green veins grew across her face. Her tongue flicked out, revealing teeth far sharper than those the other green skinned people had possessed. Those yellow eyes next to hers, she had seen them before in another face that was just as monstrous and just as attractive. Not just that, she knew she had seen through these particular eyes before.

“You!” Caruviel whispered, yanking her face away and turning away from the mirror. Behind her was just the elf she had been smitten with. But Caruviel saw something odd in her features, some sort of warping. It was like she was too real.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.” The groomer simpered. “But I wanted to see how you would react. Stinger tells me you’ve never seen any other than an elf before.”

“No…” Caruviel said, turning back to look at the not-elf in the mirror. Compared to the others of her kind she had seen, this woman looked remarkably similar to Stinger. “So, you serve Mistress too?”

The yellow eyes flashed. She nodded.

“Yes, I do serve Mistress, in a slightly different capacity.” She said. “You may call me Spinner.”

“You killed all those people.” Caruviel said. “You gave them cause to celebrate then poisoned their drink.”

“Yes.” She said simply.

“What are you doing here?” Caruviel asked.

“Because Mistress commands me so.” Spinner smiles and interrupts the question already forming on Caruviel’s tongue. “My Mistress commands me to deliver a message.”

“A message?”

“An offer of security.” Spinner said, leaning in. Caruviel thought she might be going to press her face against hers again, but Spinner’s lips met her ear. “Of power.”

A current went up Caruviel’s spine and seemed to pulse in her face.

“She tricked me.” Caruviel said as she came down from the sensation. “She made me kill Intë’s husband.”

“Are you really saying the wish for his death had never crossed your mind?” Spinner whispered, a hand gripped Caruviel’s shoulder. “Don’t lie, I’ll know.”

“I- it may have.” Caruviel admitted.

“See? You can take a life, and can already want to do so.” Spinner said, her hand venturing up Caruviel’s neck, cupping it. “You did quite well for you first time, too.”

“How can you say that?” Caruviel asked, slightly horrified. But not enough to convince herself that she actually was horrified.

“Maybe I like paying compliments?” Spinner said. “Although some confidence garnered from them would not go to waste in fulfilling Mistress’ condition.”

“Condition? What condition.”

“In exchange for being brought under her wing, you must provide something.” Spinner said, and pressed her lips just below Caruviel’s ear. “Would you hazard a guess?”

“No.” Caruviel said, the whispers in her ears were causing her to heat up, and her breathing to become heavy.

“No? Well, she just needs a common thing. A body, fresh and by your hand made.” She drew from behind her a parcel wrapped in a leaf-like parchment. It was the same material that made up Stinger’s clothes. She placed it in Caruviel’s lap. “A particular one.”

Caruviel’s hands moved slowly to the bundle. She took a tab between her finger and thumb and pulled it away. The other hand too another, and as it uncovered the contents of the parcel, she frowned. It was what she had expected. A knife.

“What do you mean, a particular one?”

“Mistress wishes for you to bring her someone’s body.” Spinner chuckled. “I’m sure you can figure out who if you really think about it.”

“Please, I don’t want to kill anyone.” Caruviel said weakly, not looking at the reflection in front of her.

“I don’t think either of us are foolish enough to believe that.” Spinner said, and she leaned in again. “Take it from me, the sacrifice is quite worth the reward.”

Caruviel looked up as Spinner’s hands lifted from her shoulders. The mirror was empty. Caruviel turned, Spinner was nowhere to be seen, in her true visage of otherwise.

Slowly, she turned back around, and looked down at the dagger lying in her lap.

There was a way out. Out of this nightmare of an arranged marriage, out of this village, and she hated herself for considering it.

Part of her wanted to leave the wretched knife here, just hidden in the corner of the tent, wrapped in this strange, plant-like leather.

“There you are.” Her mother entered the tent behind her. Caruviel quickly wrapped the knife back in the leather. “I see the groomer has left already.”

“Yes, mother.” Caruviel said, getting up, making no effort to hide the bundle her mother would already have seen.

“She did a decent job, I guess.” She said. Then she pointed to the parcel. “What have you got there?”

“A present, from the groomer.” She said, pulling the easy lie from nowhere.

“Very well, go put it on the gifts table,” She gestured out of the tent. “It’s over near the gate.”

Caruviel allowed herself to be ushered out of the tent. She blinked slightly as she emerged into the sunlight. Her mother followed her out.

“They finally got around to setting it up.” She said, pointing over to the table.

Caruviel set off, crossing the yard. Her eyes flicked around, trying to find any trace of Spinner. But it was useless. She was gone, just as swiftly as Stinger and her companion had vanished the previous day.

Depositing the knife on the table, Caruviel looked over to the corner where she had been sitting before. The chair was gone, most likely moved to one of the tables. She glanced around for somewhere else to sit.

The was a short wall connecting to a larger stone building to her left, that would do.

As she walked over to the wall, even though the knife was no longer in her vision, it was like she still felt it there. As though the image of it had been burned into her skull. It was there, on the table, and she knew it.

Settling against the building, on top of the wall, she tried not to think about anything.

Her eyes flicked over to the knife, wrapped in leather.

She looked away resolutely. She couldn’t do it. Absolutely not.

Not even to someone who deserved it? It’s not like she hadn’t done so before.

There was a difference between what she had done, setting the pouch and unknowingly causing Intë’s husband to die, and purposefully stabbing someone with the intent to kill.

Damn Spinner, damn Stinger, and most of all damn…

No, Mistress was at least giving her a choice in the matter. That was far more than anyone else had thus far. Except perhaps Narixina.

What of Spinner? What had happened to her? She looked so different to the people who Caruviel had seen through her eyes. There had been women in the resistance meeting, if Spinner had looked like she did now, they surely would have been more suspicious.

Had something happened to her since then? Had something happened to change her? Caruviel’s mind flashed back to Stinger, and her companion from the river. Had they all been different? Caruviel’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. Mistress had changed them, she must have. The resemblance between them and her was not insignificant.

They served Mistress, and they had been changed. Mistress wanted Caruviel to serve her. She already had served Mistress, in fact. The ‘small favour’ was never intended to be a one off. If Caruviel served Mistress then she too may become ‘changed’ as Spinner and Stinger had. That what must be meant by Mistress ‘taking her under her wing’.

Unbidden, the thought of running her tongue along her own set of sharpened teeth arose from inside her, carrying with it a strange plume of arousal. A hand rose to her mouth and she bit down on a curled finger. The muscles under the skin strained against her jaw. Part of her ached to close her teeth fully, feel the crunch underneath them as bones shattered. She closed her eyes and released the finger.

As her hand lowered, another image appeared. This one of her drawing a clawed hand down Stinger’s naked chest. They were now equals; and she was rather annoyed at how Stinger had left her in the forest, alone and all pent up. Both her hands flew up to hold Stinger’s face. She pulled her in close, not too careful with how rough she was being. Her yellow eyes stared unblinkingly at their twins as their owners groaned into the kiss.

Caruviel’s eyes shot open.

Mistress had asked her to kill someone. The condition on becoming hers. Caruviel felt her mind moving so very fast, but at the same time so very slow. Stinger had accepted the same offer. She had killed someone. Probably more than just someone, judging by how many she had seen Spinner sentence to death just before she…

Just before she stabbed her husband.

Mistress had wanted a particular body, dead by her own hand.

Spinner had said that Caruviel could probably figure it out. That it was well worth the sacrifice.

Spinner had loved her husband.

Mistress wanted her to kill someone she loved. Someone who could come between her and Caruviel.

Caruviel swallowed, her jaw felt slack, her arms fell to her sides.

Please no.

No, anyone but her.

Caruviel would kill anyone if not her.

But of course, there was no one else. That’s what made it necessary.

She understood who Mistress wanted her to kill.

Her only other hope, slim as it might be.

Narixina.

Mistress wanted her to kill Narixina, and to bring her the body.

Her only chance of escaping this arranged marriage was to kill the only person who had been genuinely kind to her throughout this entire ordeal.

She felt unsteady as she got to her feet. Sheer revulsion spreading through her. What Mistress wanted of her; it was unthinkable. It was horrifying.

It was her only chance.

If she ran with Narixina, they would both die. If she didn’t, she would be forever trapped in wedlock to Illuvian. If she killed Narixina, she might have a chance.

No! She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t let someone die in her place. She shouldn’t.

“Are you okay, miss?” Someone put their hand on her arm.

“I, no.” Caruviel stumbled and tripped. She tried to stop herself falling but overbalanced, and felt herself falling backwards.

Arms flew out to grab her. Her head was spinning. The sun was shining on her face. She felt herself being lowered to the ground and rolled onto her side.

Caruviel felt the arms leave, and part of her wanted to cry out. She needed something. A pair of arms wrapped around her slowly, and she dimly realised they were her own. Her hand touched something wet, and she pulled it back to see blood on the palm there.

“You’re just bleeding from your arm, miss.” A voice said. It might have continued, it might have been someone else’s added. “Looks like a re-opened wound.”

Caruviel looked at the blood from her arm. She had done that, just a few days ago.

How long was that ago?

She had been thinking about something, right? Really intently. There were fingers, and teeth, and blood.

There was something in front of her face. Something fleshy.

“Aargh!” Someone yelled out from in front of her. She released the thing as it was yanked away from her.

Caruviel blinked. What?

“The wench bit me!” Oh, she had bitten something.

“Shut up, don’t you know who she is?”

Caruviel’s eyes slipped shut, it would just be so much easier if she relaxed.

“What is… why do I have to…?” she heard someone say, it might have even been her.

“Get back to work, you idiots!”

Caruviel snapped back to consciousness, her mother’s voice an iron to her mind. She felt, rather than saw, the people around her begin to drift off from where they surrounded her.

She managed to sit up, shaking slightly, before her mother’s shadow fell over her. She rubbed her eyes.

“Get up.” She heard, so she did so. A hand gripped her arm and steered her over to the side of the courtyard. Turning her back to face her, Caruviel’s mother said “What was that all about?”

“I- I was just feeling a little faint.” She lied.

“Just hold it together for one more day, is that too much for you?” her mother asked maliciously.

“I’m sorry, I’ll try.” Caruviel mumbled out.

“Buck up your attitude.” She said. “I doubt the Prince will be as temperate as me and your father have been with you.”

“Yes, mother.” Caruviel said, voice wavering.

“Now stay there, make yourself look presentable, guests should be arriving in a few minutes.”

Caruviel brushed off the blood from her shoulder. Mind running only on the essentials. Moving like concrete. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t contemplate. It was important for some reason.

Her breathing slowly became steadier and steadier.

“Ok, yes.” She said to herself, looking up finally. Her mother was gone, probably for a while.

The Prince. Yes, she was marrying him tomorrow. He wouldn’t put up with this from her. There was no way out of it.

Unless…

No. There was no way out of this.

Caruviel took one final deep breath and walked over to join her mother at the entrance gate. Her mother glanced back.

“Good, you finally got up.” She said, and turned to great the first family of guests. “Hello there, we’re delighted you could make it.”

“Thank you for coming.” Caruviel said, as the family walked past her and into the courtyard.

Families came up to the gate as they arrived. They were greeted by Caruviel and her mother, and deposited gifts before entering the party.

Eventually, as was to be expected, Illuvian and his parents arrived.

“Your majesties’.” Her mother bowed. “It truly pleases me that you’ve deigned us with your presences.

“Thank you for coming.” Caruviel repeated as she inclined her head.

“My dear fiancé, I hardly think that’s the sort of greeting that would be acceptable once we’re married.” Illuvian said.

“I’m sure my daughter would be only too delighted to learn.” Her mother said. “Please enlighten her.”

“First, you need a nice low bow.” Illuvian said, his face splitting into a smile.

Caruviel didn’t budge.

“I said, a nice low bow.” Illuvian repeated.

“Do not worry, your majesty. She just needs some encouragement.” Her mother said, pressing a hand to Caruviel’s back and pushing down. Not expecting the pressure, Caruviel doubled over and fell onto her hands and knees. “Oh dear.”

To her chagrin, Illuvian kneeled down to help her up.

“I’ll be sure to encourage her thoroughly, ma’am.” He said past Caruviel’s ear as he lifted her up.

The hair on Caruviel’s neck stood up as a bolt of anger shot through her. How dare he? She struggled to make her face neutral as she stood up. She would need plenty of encouragement to ever respect him.

Of course, he was the Prince, everyone allowed him his wishes because everyone else did, and if she was not cooperative… that wouldn’t end well.

“Thank you for coming, your majesty.” She conceded.

“We’ll have to work on you.” Illuvian said. “I’ll make a good wife of you yet.”

Caruviel stayed still, trying not to flinch until the family had turned away to the party and drifted off into the growing crowd. She let out a breath, looking at nothing in particular. Something nudged her side. She looked down. Her hands were shaking.

They were shaking, but they were also holding something. A parcel wrapped in strange, plant-like leather.

She set it back down on the table immediately.

“Calm down, he’s gone now.” She hissed at herself. It didn’t stop her from remembering the simple fact that knives could be used on multiple things.

“Hello dear, congratulations.” Said a voice approaching the gate. Caruviel looked up. It was the seamstress. She looked especially drawn, preparations for her son’s and daughter-in-law’s funerals must be tiring her out.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Caruviel bowed her head. She looked back up at the seamstress. Her face seemed to beg Caruviel to say something, anything comforting, for the two deaths that she was at least partly responsible for. She opened her mouth to say something, but the Seamstress had already moved on.

Guests arrived and the birthday party began to fill, until at an hour after the first guests had arrived Caruviel’s father grabbed the crowd’s attention to wish her a happy marriage. Just a happy marriage.

Her jaw clenched as people turned to look at her and clap. If her father had really wanted her to have a happy marriage then why did he arrange one at all? But of course, he didn’t. he just wanted money.

He continued by talking about how woodcarving taught him to be the father he was today. Caruviel couldn’t help but agree.

“And finally, I have a few choice pieces up for display.” He said, pointing towards a deserted gallery area of the courtyard.

Caruviel grabbed a goblet of wine after that; and retreated to the sitting height wall.

Unfortunately, there was someone there already.

Narixina.

Caruviel stopped a few strides short of the wall. Narixina smiled at her. Caruviel stretched her mouth into something resembling one back. She couldn’t leave without Narixina realising something was up, so she continued forwards.

“Hi.” Caruviel said weakly, turning so that she leant up against the higher wall. She looked out into the crowd. A prickle ran up her neck, and she couldn’t help but let her eyes flick back to the knife.

“So, you ready to do this?” Narixina asked.

“What?” Caruviel looked at her. Panicking slightly. Did she somehow know?

“Keep your voice down.” She said, pressing down with her hand. “Are you ready to leave after this?”

“Oh… uh, I don’t know.” Caruviel said.

“You don’t know?” Narixina raised an eyebrow.

“The hunt, they might catch us.”

“Those fools?” Narixina scoffed. “No way.”

“They killed Intë.” Caruviel whispered, trying to push truth into the words. “And if I run away the night before I am to marry the Prince… well.”

“Yeah, I… I saw that.” Narixina looked away. The she looked back, seemingly determined. “How about this: I promise you I will get you outside the forest.”

It wasn’t good enough. What could Narixina do to keep that promise? Even if they did manage to clear the tree line, what then? The hunt would surely catch them. There was no way out.

“I’m sorry.” Caruviel looked away. “I’m thankful you tried to help me.”

“What do you mean?” Narixina asked, when Caruviel took too long to respond, she scoffed. “Are you talking about giving up? Rolling over and accepting this?”

“No. Please, I’m not…” Caruviel murmured.

“I thought you were different. But it turns out you’re just like all those other maidens who would willingly submit once they were sold off in marriage.” Narixina sneered. Her face faltered. She shook her head. “Look, I know it’s scary, but please just consider it.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll wait at the western edge of the village, like I said. But I’ll be leaving at midnight.” She stood up and looked at Caruviel rather sadly. “You don’t have to come, but I hope you do.”

It was incredibly tempting. Caruviel felt like she wanted to call out as Narixina turned and left. Not just leaving her side, but the party as well.

The rest of the event passed in a blur of restrained panic.

Before Caruviel knew it, she and her parents were carrying home the gifts given to her by the various party guests. It would pay off in the long run to be nice to the Prince’s new wife. But Caruviel also held something that was not a gift. In her pile Caruviel held the knife wrapped in plant-leather. She couldn’t just leave it. It would have been very suspicious if someone found it.

She tried not to think about it.

Caruviel looked at the clock on the mantlepiece instinctively as she entered the house. She knew midnight was when both hands pointed straight up. On the clock, the short hand was halfway between the top and the number to the left of it, and the long hand was facing down. She had half an hour until Narixina left.

She followed her parents up the stairs, they put the gifts onto her bed, and left without a word. Not even a ‘good night’. Really, she wasn’t sure she wanted them to say anything, it probably would have just made her dread the morning more. Caruviel let her pile drop on the bed too.

The knife slid out of the wrap and off the bed. It landed blade first in the wood. The weight of the handle pulling it down and dislodging a chip of the flattened branches that made up the floor.

Caruviel stared at the blade.

It was time to make her final choice.

She could go to sleep, wake up in the morning, and allow herself to be married off to the Prince. A most horrible man. She would be lucky if she lasted more than a year or two, ended by his hand or hers. She could take the knife, use it to rid herself of him, but then she would surely be executed like Intë.

She could flee to Narixina, running away with the only person who ever halfway cared about her. They probably wouldn’t reach the edge of the forest. It was at least two days walk, and the hunt would be upon them before next moonrise.

Or she could take the knife, and exchange Narixina’s life for her own freedom.

She looked up at the century-old doll on her chest of draws, and Caruviel knew what she should have chosen.

Caruviel pulled her bag from beneath her drawers. She was going to go meet with Narixina.


	7. Day 7

“I knew you’d come.” Narixina smiled.

“Yeah.” Caruviel said, walking up to the westernmost edge of the village just after midnight. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s alright, I knew you’d be here,” She said. “ I held out hope a bit longer.”

“Thanks.” Caruviel said. “I got a little held up.”

“Got everything?” Narixina asked, pointing to Caruviel’s backpack.

“I didn’t really know what I’d need.” She said, keeping her face blank.

“Well, as long as we can get to my parent’s house we can supply properly there.” Narixina said. She drew closer to Caruviel and leaned in to kiss her.

Narixina didn’t notice as Caruviel drew the knife from behind her back.

Their lips were about to meet when Narixina felt the knife between her ribs.

“What?” She gasped, stepping backwards. “Why? What are you doing?”

Caruviel watched, her body flooding with pleasure at Mistress’ approval, as Narixina stumbled over and fell backwards.

“I’m sorry.” Caruviel said, crouching down beside her. “But this is the only way I can save myself.”

“What ar… ugh.” Narixina coughed up some blood, her voice becoming gurgling and wet.

Caruviel covered Narixina’s mouth with her bag, stifling the last of her sounds.

“I wish there could have been another way.” She said, surprising herself with her own calmness. “But this is what Mistress commands.”

Narixina went limp. Caruviel closed her eyes, she couldn’t look as she removed the bag from on top of the face of the person she had just killed.

Narixina hadn’t deserved this. She had deserved to go out and travel. To see the world with someone she cared about.

Caruviel’s eyes snapped open. Her head snapping to the side as she thought she heard a noise. Just an animal…

Or perhaps.

“I know you’re there.” Caruviel said. “Come out.”

The bushes rustled, and out stepped the woman who had started Caruviel on this horrible path to freedom, if that’s what this truly was.

“Hello, Stinger.”

“Hello again.” She said, smiling. The strange elf woman continued her walk toward them; no, towards her. “I was given the privilege of transporting your sacrifice.”

Caruviel couldn’t think of anything to say, a ‘thank you’ was definitely not on the table. She leaned back, taking care not to look at the corpse. Stinger reached her and crouched beside the body. She reached out a hand to touch Caruviel’s face. Caruviel couldn’t find it in herself to bat it away.

“I am truly grateful you have chosen this path.” Stinger said, rubbing Caruviel’s cheek with her thumb, its long claw flicking in and out of the elf’s vision. Caruviel looked away still, and Stinger used her hand to turn her head to meet her gaze. “You must feel terrible now, but Mistress will make everything better.”

Caruviel groaned at the mention of Mistress. Whether it was the frustration in her mind, or the heat in her abdomen that caused this she wasn’t sure.

“Leave your old things, but bring the blade.”

Stinger placed her hands under the corpse’s neck and knees and stood up.

“Come with me, I will lead you to Mistress.” She said, adjusting her grip as though the body she held was a bride she was about to carry over a threshold. She turned and began to walk back into the forest from the direction she had come.

Caruviel looked back to the village. Throwing it one last look of hatred as she set off behind the only living person she had kissed. Whatever was ahead of her, no matter how much it scared her, or in some ways disgusted her, it was surely so much better than staying behind.

She followed in silence for a time as Stinger wound past trees carrying the body. Finally, the silence began to unnerve her. That, and she felt the need to distract herself from the rippling of Stinger’s back muscles in front of her.

“How did you…” She started, then paused. Stinger finished the question.

“Come into the service of Mistress?” She chuckled. “I cannot recall much, only that I was some sort of holy warrior.”

“Holy?” Caruviel asked, not recognising the word.

“In service of some deity.” She clarified. “Mistress found me at my lowest point, like all of us. I had recently learned some… uncomfortable realities about my former leaders; ones I’d prefer not to repeat.”

“I’d rather not know then.” Caruviel said, grimacing.

“She offered me a chance to serve her instead of the whims of the sect’s leaders.” Stinger said. “I took it, and I’ve never felt better than serving her.”

“Who did you…” Caruviel started, then changed phrasing. “Who was your sacrifice?”

“My closest comrade.” She said, voice dropping. “She worked with me on many a mission before we discovered the truth.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” Stinger said. “I may think back on our time together fondly, but it was what I had to do; nothing is more important to me than serving Mistress.”

The trees had started to change around them. Where there had been beeches and pines there were now more of the trees with thin trunks and wide branches with leaves that hung down low like ribbons. Where the trees before had been illuminated only by the moon, the sun seemed to be rising on the horizon all around them. Streaks of light passed horizontally through the trees. Stinger let out a contented sigh.

“We have returned to Mistress’ domain.” Stinger said.

“This is where you lead me before, isn’t it?” Caruviel asked. “It’s like a whole another world.”

She noticed Stinger laugh slightly.

“Oh, it is another world, isn’t it?”

“Of sorts.” She said. “You can’t yet notice when we pass through into her twilight domain, but you will soon.”

Silence resumed for a time. As they walked, Caruviel couldn’t help but feel there was some sort of thing in the air. Some sort of fog, but completely see through. It made her feel warm and tingly, and it was like walking through thin water, although she had no trouble moving.

“I feel strange.” She said, looking at Stinger with concern.

“I had forgotten since my own time here as you are.” Stinger said. “Once finished, it will feel like home.”

The clear fog began to flow into her brain. She felt stuffy and slow as she followed behind the woman carrying the body.

“You speak oddly.” She giggled out.

“As will you, most likely.” Stinger said. “As Mistress suffuses her essence through yours, you will become a part of her world. Here things are less defined than the material plane.”

“She is going to make me like you?” Caruviel asked, half hoping.

“No, she is going to make you alike to her.” Stinger said. A shiver went down Caruviel’s spine and she let out a soft gasp. “You seem remarkably quick to accept it, I had to be convinced rather thoroughly by my fellows.”

“I’m not sure why.” Caruviel admitted. “But something about your form, it excites me.”

“As I have seen.” Stinger said slyly. She turned her attention back to in front of her, and spoke again. “We are very close now; last chance to turn back.”

Turning back? Turning back would just put her back into the hands of the village again. No, she would not turn back. She calmed slightly, and realised.

“Has anyone ever turned back?” She asked.

“No.” Said a voice to her left. From out of the darkness walked the bald human-ish woman that Caruviel had seen Stinger with at the stream. She glanced at Stinger. “This is the reason why you had us put on that lovely performance the other day. I had hoped it was for her sake.”

“Do you do that sort of thing often?” Caruviel asked.

“Only when the mood strikes us.” Stinger grinned. She glanced to her companion.

“Which is often.” She finished. “But of course, not when we have something better to do.”

“When Mistress requires something of us.” Stinger clarified.

“I heard you coming.” The bald woman said, looking at Caruviel. “You may call me Hopper.”

“Hello, err, Hopper.” Caruviel said. She was about to introduce herself when she remembered. “You probably don’t want to know my name, do you?”

“You don’t have a name yet.” Hopper said. “Not one that matters anyway. Not until Mistress bestows it upon you.”

“Ah, I had wondered.” Caruviel said. She let the silence dangle for a second before asking. “We all killed someone to get here, didn’t we?”

“And more since.” Hopper said. “As Mistress commands.”

“We’re here.” Stinger said, as she carried the corpse past a tree line into a clearing.

The strange feeling reached an apex as Caruviel stepped into the clearing behind Stinger. Now she saw why it was so strong.

Seemingly buried up to her waist in the earth beneath their feet was the giant woman, the one who Caruviel had seen in her dream. It was Mistress, in person.

Caruviel groaned, feeling waves of heat flow off the woman dissipate slowly into the buzz that was seemingly a part of the forest.

Her off-olive skin seemed to glow faintly. The vines wrapped around her like fishing nets undulated as she raised her head high, stretching out her spine to its full length, towering above everyone else in the clearing. She raised her arms to the sky, and opened her mouth. Very little sound came from it, and Caruviel realised she was yawning.

Mistress stretched her neck this way and that before finally looking down at the small party that had entered the clearing.

That wasn’t it, Caruviel gulped and felt her knees become weak as she realised that Mistress’ eyes were fixed on her. Her face split into a wide grin, revealing those sharp teeth.

“Thank you for coming.” She said, her voice surprisingly soft, but still audible, for her height. “I’m rather ecstatic to meet you in person.”

Caruviel couldn’t break the gaze, but she didn’t know what to say. This woman had made her kill Narixina. Something of her reluctance must have shown in her face, because Mistress continued to speak.

“I’m sorry the death of your beloved was necessary.” She said. “But none may come before me for my thralls.”

“She was dead anyway.” Caruviel said. “I couldn’t have fled with her without dooming us both.”

“You know that isn’t true.” Mistress said, leaning down slightly. “But I think we should get started.”

She nodded to Stinger and Hopper.

“Yes Mistress. We will prepare the sacrifice.” Stinger said, and Caruviel sensed, rather than saw her walk through a passage of trees, holding the corpse. The knife still embedded between its ribs. Hopper followed.

Caruviel’s eyes were still locked on Mistress.

Suddenly, she felt the clear mist around her disappear. Her head became clearer than it had been for days, only now was she able to tell the difference. She hadn’t felt like this since before Intë’s Party.

It was horrible.

“What did you do to me?” Caruviel asked.

“I have purged you of my essence, accrued during your first foray into my domain.” Mistress explained. “I accept only the most devoted thralls as my own, and I’m afraid I have something of an intoxicating effect on people.”

Mistress leaned down until she was eye to eye with Caruviel. Her arms stretching around until they were flat against the earth under her chin.

“I want nothing but your loyalty, and any promises you make under my influence are tainted.” Mistress said. Then she grinned again. “I want you to beg.”

“Beg?”

“Yes, beg me to take you as my own.” Mistress said, a gleam appearing in her eyes. “Beg me to destroy this pitiful form of yours and fashion you a new one, designed only to do my will. Beg to allow me to be your one and only, above all else.”

Caruviel looked away. She had known something like this was coming. Part of her was dreading it. It was the point of no return.

If she denied Mistress, and she was able to leave, she could probably slip back into her life as it was going. She would go back to the village, she would marry Illuvian, she would be berated by her parents for the rest of her life, trying to get her to indulge them.

When she accepted, she would be made like Stinger, and Hopper, and Spinner. She would serve Mistress in all she asked of, going where she bid and killing who she wished. In between, she would engage in any pleasurable tryst she could think of with the others thralls of Mistress.

The choice was easy, even without Mistress’ presence in her mind.

Caruviel fell to her knees, and looked up at her Mistress.

“Please, Mistress.” She said. “I beg of you. Please accept me as one of your thralls.”

Mistress’ face lit up. She moved an arm to outstretch a hand in front of her new servant.

“Then come with me, my darling thrall-to-be.” Mistress said, allowing her fog to flow back into Caruviel, filling her mind and body. She almost came right then, collapsing onto the hand in front of her. She was surprised to find herself naked, as if Mistress had simply decided her old dress should no longer exist.

Caruviel rolled over into the middle of the hand. Guided by her Mistress’ will, she propped her back up against the curved fingers behind her. Vines began to snake inwards from around Mistress’ hand, and Caruviel moaned as they began to twist around her wrists and ankles, and up their respective limbs. Around her chest, and waist, and neck they flowed like water, but warm to the touch and pulsing slightly.

“I’m so happy that you accepted my offer.” Mistress said. Her vines applying strategic pressure as the curls undulated around Caruviel’s body. “You weren’t meant for that life.”

“No Mistress.” She said.

“We’re going to do such good things together, you and I.”

“Yes Mistress.”

The vines around Caruviel’s neck began to coil around her head, blocking her vision and thoroughly dampening her hearing. She was worried for a second, but then she heard Mistress inside her mind, and she was swept away in a wave of pleasure.

“_My darling… Weaver._”

A vine folded over her nethers, the knots and hairs on it providing incredible sensation. She ground herself against it, desperate for the pleasure her Mistress could provide.

She felt a strange something squirming into her. Not from any orifice, but through the holes and gaps in a heart that had been broken over and over again. The belonging she should have felt from those in the village was replaced by belonging to her fellow thralls. The care she should have received from her parents, her Mistress found a place for her own tenderness. The love she could have received from Narixina, that she had torn away herself; that was open to be filled by Mistress. It was pure ecstasy. As if Mistress’ affection was running through her veins.

A heat came over her mind, which grew foggier still. Through the gaps in the vines she saw only Mistress’ glowing yellow eyes. Her old memories became blurred and indistinct, ready for new ones to be made in service to Mistress. Self-doubt and self-hatred erased as easily as she would now kill for Mistress. There was no need for them in her ability to fulfil Mistress’ will. Kindness was useful only in steadying her hand to carry out that will. She was seizing up, being erased, being changed. There could be no better feeling in all the world. No one would ever give this up. Nothing and no one mattered more than pleasing Mistress.

Lights began to appear in her mind. Maybe it was just lack of air from holding her breath while grinding up against the vine between her legs. Or perhaps, as each of the lights began to brighten as they stimulated themselves, they were her new comrades under Mistress.

Finally, the greatest light of all appeared. A full moon compared to individual stars. She finally saw Mistress, and a pair of names locked into her mind.

The name she had now, and the name of the one she served for the rest of eternity.

Weaver screamed the true name of her Mistress through vines. Her inadequate elfin form collapsing as it was overwhelmed from the pleasure of having her mind re-written. She fell limp as the vines around her retracted.

“You’ve done so well, my darling.” Mistress said, and Weaver felt her very being glow with pleasure at the praise.

“Tha…” She tried to speak, but her jaw went slack halfway through.

“Don’t strain yourself dear, you’ve still got a long way to go yet before you are fully mine.” Mistress said, tilting her hand upwards.

Mistress grinned again, and Weaver finally understood what it meant.

“_You are mine and only mine. I will eat you, consume you, have you, make you like me, and possess you forever._”

And Weaver agreed.

She fell off of the hand and down towards those sharp teeth. They split at the last second, and the elf fell into the fey’s mouth.

The saliva inside was plentiful. With little effort at all, Mistress flexed her tongue and sent Weaver down her throat.

She fell into some pool of slick, oily stuff.

Too tired to move, Weaver only dimly noticed as it began to form a waxy coating around her. Her eyes rolled backwards and she fell unconscious.

She dreamed an old dream. Of broken stone architecture and the rolling vines that covered it. She was there, in some form or another; physical, spirit, or memory, it made little difference. It was only them left, just as Mistress had intended. Just as Mistress was working towards every hour.

Weaver shifted in her sleep. Her half-lidded yellow eyes shedding a soft light on the membrane in front of her face. Her Mistress would wake her if she had particular need, but until then she was seemingly free to wake at her own leisure.

Hunger shot through her, finally prompting her waking. She had not eaten in several days. Her eyes screwed shut and then flicked open.

Inside the cocoon in Mistress’ stomach she flexed her new muscles. Not as strong as some of her fellow thralls, but they would suffice in serving Mistress. She brought her hands up, admiring her new claws. A bolt of arousal shot through her. Green branching veins spread across her skin, presumably extending up to her face. Running her tongue across the inside of her new teeth, Weaver swooned as she felt how sharp they were. Just as she imagined.

She gripped the soft cocoon with her claws and shredded it, emerging back into Mistress’ stomach. She looked around for some way out. Eventually she reached a passage upwards, Mistress’ oesophagus, that she had fallen down on her way here.

Hundreds of sets of 4 dots of scar tissue, leading up, showed her the way out. She planted her claws into the flesh just above her, and then the other, and then a foot, and began to climb.

It was slow going, covered in bile and an increasing amount of Mistress’ blood, she had to be careful to not slip.

Hand over hand, and foot over foot, she made her way up into Mistress’ mouth. Weaver felt a great shifting as she put her claws into Mistress’ tongue. Mistress appeared to be leaning down again, and Weaver felt a shot of pleasure at her compassion.

There was a welling of saliva towards Mistress’ teeth, and Weaver slid down, landing on one of the many sets of canines. A great sucking filled the mouth, and she felt herself slip past Mistress’ lips and back into the outside world.

Landing on her feet, Weaver tipped her head back and let out a groan at the brightness of the perpetual twilight. She looked around, noticing several other of Mistress’ thralls naked except for their collars. She grinned at them.

“The latest addition to my thralls.” Mistress said from behind her. “Welcome, Weaver.”

Weaver almost hesitated at the name, as if she had been expecting something different. She shouldn’t, Weaver was her name; It was what Mistress knew her by, and the only one that mattered. She found herself quite content to let that old name flit into the aether and out of her mind.

Another thrall, Stinger, approached her. Weaver strode towards her, taking her face in her hands and sticking her tongue into the other’s mouth. Stinger reciprocated with glee, and Weaver growled as they let loose on each other.

Not just them, but others joined too. Hopper, the bald thrall, assisted Stinger in taking her to the ground. She was very excited to eat her pussy, and Stinger was only too happy to use Hopper’s head to pleasure herself as she and Weaver groaned around the other’s tongues.

Still more joined in. A green and red thrall with what looked like antlers began to lick Mistress’ blood from her skin. A heavyset, if short, thrall propped her up and entered her ass with her member. She played with Weaver’s small breasts, also biting down hard on her shoulder.

Blood dripped down her shoulder, and it was eagerly licked up by Spinner, who had removed her plain looking glamour.

Weaver was incredibly stimulated, in ways that would not have been possible when she was a mere elf. Oh yes this was far better. Her mind was truly depraved, broken beyond all recognition, all in service to Mistress.

That thought pushed her over the edge many times.

Eventually they collapsed, not exhausted exactly, but burnt out. Weaver idly rubbed herself as the group dispersed.

Stinger, however, stayed.

“I can’t tell you how much I wanted this to happen.” She said, pulling Weaver into her lap. “You are truly a boon for Mistress to acquire.”

“Save your thanks, you are far more worthy of it.” Weaver said. “How difficult it must have been to kiss the thing I was before and not simply ravish it, like honey.” As honeycomb, delicious and easy to enjoy, but delicate and easy to break.

“I think I did well.” Stinger said. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“Almost.” Weaver said, smiling. “I am unlike the others in service to Mistress in a single detail.”

“I had wondered when you would pick up on that.” She reached towards her leather collar. With her other hand she reached behind her back. From behind there she pulled another collar, of paler leather.

Caruviel put it on eagerly, tying it at the front. She grinned, flexing her neck to show off.

“Mistress is our one and only.” Stinger said.

“Yes, all of our one and only.” Weaver agreed.


	8. Day 14: Epilogue

Weaver stole through the night, around the edge of the village.

She saw the building where her target lived. It was the largest, a great stone thing, in contrast to the others in town which were all built with magically woven wood. It was surrounded with four courtyards, two of them looking on to the forest. That was her method of approach.

Mistress had gifted her with this target. A petulant young elf noble in search of his missing bride. He had begun making preparations to saw through the forest, cutting a wide path through until he found her body, or made it.

There were tents in the courtyard, with elves employed to start at first light, while the Prince had never touched an axe. Weaver snuck past them easily and climbed up the side of the stonework easily.

She opened the window shutters easily, they weren’t even locked, and crept into the room of the Prince. He was asleep.

Mistress had had rather particular instructions; which Weaver was only too happy to carry out.

She climbed on top of him, straddling his chest beneath her. She pulled out the knife from her belt and lined it up with his throat. She was much better at killing silently this time. She muffled his scream with her hand, pushing down hard to keep his jaw shut and silence him.

His eyes were wide as he saw her face in the moonlight.

“Seen a phantom?” She whispered as his screams died. Then she got to work. Cutting quickly, she outlined his features. They were easily removed after that, just a small tug. She threw the skin into the fire, as instructed. She left via the window, pleased with carrying out her Mistress’ orders, but deeper than that she felt inside herself a prickle of dark joy.

The faceless elvish corpse would not be found until morning.


End file.
